En Ma Fin
by BlueEyedMonster11
Summary: The year is 1890, and war is brewing on the horizon. None of the European countries can cooperate long enough to combat the growing danger, yet they can't do it alone. Join Sky Pirate captain Arthur Kirkland as he teams up with Francis Bonnefoy, Antonio Carreida, and Gilbert Beilschmidt and their crews to save the day! Steampunk AU true summary inside.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Hello there everyone! If you're reading this, then I'd assume that you've decided to check out my humble little story! For that, I'd like to say thank you:) Now, time for the important stuff.**

**I realise that the summary given for this story kind of stinks, so I'll type up a better one here, just so that everyone knows what they're actually getting into.**

_**The year is 1890, and war with the eastern nations is on the horizon, lead by the Russian Federation and the Eastern Republic. No single European nation has a strong enough military force, and especially not a strong enough Air Force, to combat the growing threat, yet none of them can cooperate long enough to present an allied front. Amidst this chaos emerges a ragtag band of heroes brought together by the strangest of circumstances. Among them are **__**English privateer Arthur Mackenzie-Kirkland, Spanish heartbreaker Antonio Carriedo, French playboy Francis Bonnefoy, Prussian warmonger Gilbert Beilschmidt, strong and steady Ludwig Beilschmidt, the Vargas sisters Romana and Feliciana, American sharpshooter and miniskirt connoisseur Amelia Jones, Romanian warlock Mircea Bălan, and the mysterious Celtic sorceress Iona Kirkland-Mackenzie. Will these individuals and their comrades be enough to save the day? **_

* * *

**December 24****th****, 1885**

The cemetery was empty, save for five small figures huddled together in an attempt to ward off the chilly December air, and the groundskeeper a short distance away. They stood around a white marble headstone, not moving, not speaking.

"Excuse me, children, but the gates are closing soon. You'd best scurry back home before the storm hits," the groundskeeper said, looking at the group with warm eyes. The tallest, a slight figure in a deep blue cloak with white piping and silver embroidery, turned to the man, face in shadow, but surrounded by an aura of gloom.

"Just five more minutes, then we'll be gone," it said with a strongly accented, but definitely feminine voice.

"Five minutes, no more, no less. Wouldn't want you five to be caught in the blizzard."

"Thank you, sir," the smallest figure said, a teenage boy with scraggly blond hair and emerald green eyes.

The groundskeeper left them, watching as each cloaked figure, four with hoods down, one with hood up, stepped forward and placed a hand on the headstone for a moment, mouths moving quietly, then step back once they'd said their share. Finally, the tallest figure took her turn, only to fall to her knees and bury her hidden face in a pair of pale, willowy hands, sobs racking her body. The other four immediately wrapped their arms around her until she stood up and turned her back on the grave.

"Ta gey muckle, sur. We'll leave now. Take care of Ali for us, alright?" the hooded figure said as they walked past the groundskeeper. The old man simply nodded and smiled at the group, his gaze following them as they left the cemetery and disappeared into the silent dark of the London streets, the only evidence of their existence being the five sets of footprints left in the snow.

He walked over to the headstone, which, in beautiful Celtic script, read:

Alistair James Kirkland-Mackenzie

30th November, 1867—15th December, 1885

Beloved Son, Student, Airman, and Brother

"En Ma Fin Est Mon Commencement"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Alistair. May you rest in peace, my boy," he whispered as snow began to fall.

* * *

"Well, this is a lovely Christmas Eve, isn't it, Iona?" Arthur, the youngest of the five at fifteen, said with a sheepish laugh in his voice. Of all of them, he was the only true Englishman, and as such, was the only one of them to have developed an English accent.

"Wait, 'tis Christmas Eve? Oi tart it wus de twenty-third!" Sean, one of the sixteen-year old twins, exclaimed. He and his brother Colin, having been sent off to school in Ireland at the tender age of four, both spoke with the sing-songy accent of the Emerald Isle.

"T'be sure 'tis Christmas Eve, yer eejit! Why else wud Yona be lettin' us go near de ale?" Colin yelled just as loudly, slapping his twin upside the head.

"Behave, you two. Go back to playing your card game," seventeen-year old Dylan commanded in his soft, Welsh accent. He had only recently returned from school in Cardiff, where, like the twins, he had been every school term since he was four.

"Will all of you just calm down? I'm trying to make dinner here and I'd rather not slice myself with this knife because you four can't shut up!" Iona, the oldest and only female, yelled. If the frustrated tone of her voice hadn't already scared her brothers shitless, the roughness of her Scottish accent most certainly did. She had recently finished school up in Edinburgh the year previous, and now worked full time as a seamstress, not because of any lack of money, but simply because she needed something to do with herself while her brothers were off at their respective schools.

The boys saw the knife in her hand glint wickedly in the light of the stove fire, and they immediately went silent.

"Ta gey," she muttered, returning to the potatoes she'd been slicing.

"Hey, Arthur, have you opened that letter from the Royal Air Force Academy yet?" Dylan asked politely.

Everyone except Iona looked at Arthur expectantly, making the blond sink down in his chair nervously.

"Well, erm, eh, no, I haven't had the chance to since…" he let his sentence trail off, not wanting to open **that** can of worms on Christmas Eve of all nights.

"Well, den, open it!" Colin said, clapping his younger brother on the back. Iona continued with her slicing, almost as though she weren't listening.

Sean pulled something out of his trouser pocket, a white envelope with the Royal Air Force seal on it.

"That's my letter, you git!" Arthur yelled angrily.

"Oi foun' it lyin' on yisser bedside table. Shouldn't leave such valuable things raun wha someone can take dem," Sean taunted, waving the envelope in Arthur's face. The blond snatched it from his orange-headed brother and grabbed a letter opener from a nearby desk.

He read the letter quietly to himself, shielding it from the view of his siblings.

"Well, tell us what it says," Dylan smiled. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Dear Mr. Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland,

It is with greatest pleasure that we extend to you an invitation to begin matriculation at the Royal Air Force Academy immediately following the end of the holiday season, on the Tenth of January in the year of our Lord, Eighteen Hundred and Eighty-Five at precisely 05:00 in the morning. You will receive your uniform and all other necessary resources at this point. On behalf of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, and the Royal Air Force, we welcome you into the ranks of the military of the British Empire.

Sincerely,

Air Chief Marshal David M. Whitecastle"

There was a moment of stunned silence, filled only by the sound of Iona's knife slicing carrots, before the three other boys began whooping and hollering, mussing their youngest brother's hair and congratulating him.

"I can't believe it! I'm going to be a Royal Airman! Iona, did you hear that? They accepted me! I'll have my own ship and crew and I'll be the hero of the British Empire and oh heavens, this is so exciting!" Arthur exclaimed, waving the letter in the air.

"T'be sure they accepted yer! Don't be ridiculous! Wi' a name loike Mackenzie-Kirklan', who wouldn't want yer?" Sean yelled, wanting to be heard over the others.

"Really, they'd 'av ter be complete dolts ter reject yer!" Colin added.

"This is the greatest Christmas ever, and it isn't even yet Christmas!" Arthur proclaimed.

"Knew they'd let you in. You're following in Dad and Alistair's footsteps, Artie. Ali would be proud, don't you think, Io? Isn't this great? We'll have another airman in the family," Dylan said without thinking.

Suddenly, Iona hissed sharply, and her knife clattered to the floor, followed by footsteps running quickly up the stairs and a door slamming at the other end of the house. Leading from her spot at the cutting board to the stairs and up to the top floor was a trail of blood.

The boys finished making the dinner preparations in silence after that, eating a hearty dinner of roast beef accompanied by vegetable stew and various alcohols. Once everyone had finished, the table was cleared, the kitchen cleaned, the lights turned off and the fires put out, and the four teenagers drifted off to bed in solemn pensiveness.

* * *

**December 25****th****, 1885**

Arthur was the first to come down the next morning, excited by the thought of presents on Christmas morning. The lower level was almost unchanged from the night before, save the mounds of presents underneath their Christmas tree. The blond haired young man set about starting a fire in the fireplace before running back upstairs to go and wake his siblings. He nearly suffocated Sean by sitting on top of him until the other woke up, and he earned a long string of Welsh curse words from Dylan when he shook the flaxen-haired youth within an inch of his life. With Colin, Arthur simply whispered that there would be bacon involved if he got his ass out of bed. A chill washed over Arthur as he walked past Alistair's room. Alistair…the thought of his oldest brother sobered the teen a little. This was their first Christmas without the rough and tumble Scot, the first of many incomplete Christmases to come. By this point, Arthur's hyperactivity had worn off enough that he had the sense to simply knock on Iona's door, remembering the one Christmas that he'd made the mistake of barging in on his older sister and having to face both her and Alistair's wrath; Iona because he'd broken her favourite ceramic cross in the process, and Alistair because the sound of his twin's high-pitched screaming in Scots Gaelic had woken the grumpy older redhead prematurely.

There was no response to Arthur's knock on the door, so he tried again. Still no answer.

"Iona? Are you in there? Come on, everybody's awake! It's time to open presents!" Arthur said. He pressed his ear to the door, but heard no movement inside. Finally, he tried the door handle and found it unlocked, a rare occurrence for an eighteen-year old woman with all-male siblings. Arthur warily opened the door and peered inside Iona's spacious corner room. The lights were on, the drawers open and empty, and the closet much the same. Even the bedclothes were missing. The only personal touch that remained was the picture on the bedside table, taken only a year ago when Iona and Alistair had graduated from secondary school and the Royal Air Force Academy respectively, back when they were all still a family, six siblings and two smiling parents. Sitting next to the picture, however, was a folded piece of paper. A sense of dread settled in Arthur's stomach. He had an idea of what the note said, and he was sure that neither he nor his other three siblings were going to like it.


	2. Chapter 2: Merry Men

**_El_ _Corazón—_December 2nd****, 1889—07:00**

**Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo**

Antonio Carriedo stood on the prow of his airship, letting the chilly wind of early morning sting his sun-kissed face and play with his messy brown hair. He had long since learned to appreciate these times of solitude, when he was awake long before the rest of the crew of _El_ _Corazón _even began to stir. Today, however, this peace was short-lived.

"_Kapitän_! There is an emergency!" a tall blond man yelled, running up to Antonio's side.

"_Qué pasa_, Ludwig?" Antonio asked calmly, looking the German up and down. In his alarm, Ludwig had not yet changed out of his blue and white striped pyjamas, and Antonio had to fight the urge to laugh a little at his first mate.

"We found some stowaways in the cargo hold, sir," Ludwig said in a clipped, almost irritated voice.

"Stowaways? On the _El_ _Corazón_? That's impossible! You must have been dreaming, Luddy! Go back to sleep! You still have another hour!" the Spaniard chortled.

"This is not a joke, _Kapitän_! There really are stowaways in the hold!" Ludwig protested, his cheeks turning red.

"If you insist, then bring them up. Otherwise, I will drop you at the nearest aerodrome for immediate institutionalisation," Antonio said, deciding to humour his first mate.

"_Danke_, sir."

Ludwig disappeared back into the ship, re-emerging some twenty minutes later, accompanied by an ominous and threatening looking man with a pipe sticking out from between his lips.

"Since there were two of them, I decided to ask Abel for help. Now I'm glad that I did," Ludwig mumbled.

Between the men stood two young girls with olive skin, amber eyes, and identical manes of deep red-brown hair pulled back into flouncy ponytails. Each had a curl sticking out the side of her head, one girl's to the right and the other's to the left.

"Unhand me this instant, _bastardo_! I swear to the almighty and omnipotent God above that my _Nonno_ will hear about how roughly you've treated me and my _sorella_!" one of the girls was yelling, trying to squirm out of Abel's grasp. Her sister, on the other hand, looked scared out of her wits, begging in Italian for mercy.

"We found them while we were getting flour for Toris so that we could have biscuits with breakfast," Abel explained, tossing the livid Italian girl to Antonio's feet. Ludwig was trying to quiet her sister down without harming the girl too much, though it was obvious that he wanted to.

"Abel! That is no way to treat _una_ _dama_! Show some respect! These are obviously ladies of high society!" Antonio scolded, fixing his most captain-ish look on the Dutchman.

"My apologies. She bit me, so I reacted," the man said quietly, puffing at his pipe.

Antonio bent down so that he was on eye level with the angry female, who, at this point, had pulled herself up into a sitting position.

"Now then, _querida_, what is your name?" he asked sweetly, replacing his commanding glare with a bright smile.

"I don't have to tell you anything, _bastardo._ My name is my business, and my business only. Now get out of my face!" the girl spat. Antonio laughed a little at how red her face had gotten.

_This one's a spitfire, ciertamente, but she obviously doesn't realise just whose ship she and her hermana have stowed away on,_ Antonio thought to himself.

"You two stowed away on my ship, have been stealing my food, and have alarmed my crew. I do believe that your identities, along with any valuables you might have, are now my business. _Comprende?_" Antonio said coldly. The girl stared up at him, and her sister froze.

"Please don't hurt us, mister! We're good girls, we promise! Our house got attacked and we had to run and these awful evil men chased us and we hid on the first airship we saw and-and-and we've been here ever since please don't hurt us we're just innocent virgins please please please! My name's Feliciana and _mia_ _sorella_ is Romana and our _Nonno _is Lucius Vargas!" the girl in Ludwig's arms cried out, tears falling from her big honey-coloured eyes. All three members of _El_ _Corazón's _crew looked at each other in stunned silence. *The* Lucius Vargas? As in the famed general-turned rich and famous politician?The thought hit them all at once as they realised the pair of gems Fate had dropped into their laps.

"_Gracias, querida,_" Antonio said with a wicked smile.

"What should we do with them?" Ludwig asked, finally dropping Feliciana next to her sister.

"Take them to the extra room, the one right next to my own quarters, and find them some nice dresses. I'm sure we have some stashed onboard from some of Heracles' liaisons. We will treat them with respect," Antonio commanded with a wave of his hand. Ludwig and Abel nodded, taking hold of the Vargas sisters again and leading them back into the belly of the ship. This would certainly be interesting.

* * *

_**La Liberté—**_**March 2nd, 1890—07:00**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

Francis Bonnefoy liked to think of himself as the perfect pirate: dashing, greedy, and practically a god in bed. Sure, his ship was small, and he had issues with killing people, but otherwise, he made for a fine pirate, regardless of what Gilbert's first mate said. The stupid young Scotsman was just jealous of Francis's success as a captain.

"Um, excuse me, Captain, uhm, I hate to bother you, but, uhm, it's almost time to go. Are you ready?" came a quiet voice from behind the blond Frenchman. He whipped his head around to find his cousin, Matthew, standing there, holding tightly to a small polar bear charm he'd found in their most recent port of call.

"_Oui_, Mathieu, I am ready. Tell Mister Zwingli to raise the sails and get the engines running. We cannot afford to fall too far behind Carriedo or Beilschmidt, lest that horrid Englishman and his crew catch up to us," Francis said turning to walk back to _La Liberté_. He looked at his airship wonderously. She certainly wasn't the largest airship out there, but she was definitely the most elegant, kept pristine by the very effeminate Polish man who had recently joined the crew.

"All aboard!" Francis yelled once he had boarded the ship. In response, the door closed and the engines roared to life, and within minutes, they were airborne.

Somewhere, on the other side of the busy aerodrome, two large, dark grey airships loomed like a sinister pair of shadows, one flying the flag of the Russian Federation, the other flying the Eastern Republic's flag.

* * *

**_The English Rose—_March 2nd, 1890—07:00**

**Captain Arthur George Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Not too far away, hidden behind a rather large thundercloud, a mid-sized airship sat, easily within view of the Marseilles aerodrome, watching as _La Liberté_ rose into the sky.

"Mister Honda, tell the crew to prepare for a new mission. It looks like old Frogface has taken to the air again, and by God, I'm not letting him take my quarry again this time. Full speed ahead!" exclaimed a young man with thick eyebrows and even thicker blond hair.

"Yes, of course, Arthur-san," said a small Japanese man quietly. He turned and said something into a pipe which was connected to the wall, and at once, the airship sped up until it was directly behind the French ship.

"Also, Mister Honda, bring in the girl. I wish to speak with her a moment about her continued role aboard my ship," Arthur said. His first mate nodded and scurried into the next room, returning five minutes later with a grumpy looking woman in a shockingly short skirt and even more shockingly revealing shirt. Arthur had to force himself to focus on her bouncing golden curls and her vividly blue eyes rather than the other more enticing parts of her.

"You've been slacking on your job, Miss Jones. Perhaps it's because you find my ship so wonderful?" Arthur purred, fixing her with a seductive smirk as he sipped at a glass of amber-coloured liquid.

"I've seen outhouses on a farm that're more interesting," she spat in a distinctly American accent.

"Be that as it may, Miss Jones, my dear, you're stuck here until I give you away to the highest bidder. For now, though, I do expect you to be a productive member of this crew," Arthur said. Amelia gave him a confused look, and, for a moment, Arthur wondered if she understood what "productive" meant.

"If you want me to sleep with you, then my answer is no, no, no, no, and no! I refuse, British scum! I'd rather work down in the galley with that girly Finnish kid than come anywhere near you!" Amelia yelled with a look of disgust. Arthur sighed.

_How in this world did her mind jump to that? I don't believe I said anything that could be taken that way, _he mused.

"That can be arranged, my dear. Mister Honda, take Miss Jones down to the kitchen and tell Tino that he may do whatever he pleases with her," Arthur said. The Japanese man took the American by the arm and led her away, quietly speaking words of calm into her ear as Arthur returned his attention to the French ship ahead of them.

* * *

_**Der Adler—**_**March 2nd, 1890—07:00**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

"Captain, do you want me to bring your coffee up to your office, or will you take it downstairs with the rest of us?" asked a young man with shaggy strawberry blond hair. His red eyes sparkled mischievously in the early morning sun streaming in through the large bay windows of the captain's office.

"Can you repeat that in German, or at least English? The awesome me can't give you my answer if you're speaking in a language I don't understand" came the German accented reply from behind a tall leather seat.

The young man narrowed his eyes, a little confused by the captain's response, but complied. The man sitting in the seat must have sensed his confusion.

"You were talking in Romanian again, Mircea."

"Oh! My apologies, sir! I said, Captain Beilschmidt, would you like your coffee brought up here, or will you come and join the rest of the crew down in the galley?"

"_Danke_. I will be down in one minute. Send Io-James up. I need to speak to him about our plan," the German voice said nonchalantly.

"Yes sir. I'll tell Berwald to set aside your cup for you!"

Mircea practically skipped out of the office, and the captain heard the boy yell,

"James! Captain Gilbert needs you in his office!"

Two minutes later, a thin young man with a very long mahogany-coloured ponytail and grey eyes appeared at the doorway.

"You wanted me, Captain?" James said in an oddly high-pitched Scottish burr.

"_Ja_. We need to discuss the plan. Francis is leading that English _dummkopf_, and Antonio is monitoring him from the west. We are supposed to be tailing him, but we need you to help in cloaking all three of us as we talked about yesterday. Can't let your stupid little brother catch me and my amazing ship. Do you think you can do it… Miss Iona?" Gilbert said as he turned to face his first mate. His heart raced a little, but he quickly sobered up.

"Is it that obvious this morning?"

"You forgot your bindings. You should thank your lucky stars that Mircea is oblivious. Now go take care of that and then go finish your breakfast. You'll need the energy."

"You realise that he's in on it, too, right? And I'll go take care of it right away, sir," the young woman nodded.

"Hmph, doesn't matter. If you're not careful, someone on this crew who doesn't know might just figure it out. Now go put on the bindings. Otherwise, I'll make you scrub the floors with your toothbrush in a dress for the next two weeks. And I'd have you refer to me as 'The Most Awesome Prussian Captain Gilbert!' Hell, I still might make you do that anyways because it's true," Gilbert cackled.

"I would mutiny."

"Then go take care of it before I change my mind."

The mate turned and left, leaving her silver-haired captain alone. He fixed his jacket and took his hat from its spot on the desk, checking his reflection in the mirror near the door.

"_Mein_ _Gott_ I am awesome," he chuckled quietly.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Ta gey muckle: Thank you very much (Scots dialect)**

**Ta gey: Thank you (Scots)  
**

**Kapitän: Captain (German)  
**

**¿Qué pasa?: What happened/What's wrong? (Spanish)  
**

**Danke: Thank you (German)  
**

**Bastardo: Bastard (Italian)  
**

**Nonno: Grandfather (Italian)  
**

**Sorella: Sister (Italian)  
**

**Una Dama: a lady (Spanish)  
**

**Querida: dear (Spanish)  
**

**Ciertamente: Certainly (Spanish)  
**

**Hermana: Sister (Spanish)  
**

**¿Comprende?: Understand? (Spanish)  
**

**Gracias, querida: Thank you, dear (Spanish)  
**

**Oui: Yes (French)  
**

**Mein Gott: My God (German)**


	3. Chapter 3: Lumen Vitae

**I forgot to do a disclaimer on the other two chapters, so this disclaimer will be in effect for all chapters before this one and all chapters which come after! I do not own Hetalia, nor any of these characters, with the exception of Iona, Alistair, Dylan, Sean, and Colin. Hope you all enjoy! **

* * *

_**Der Adler—**_**March 2****nd****, 1890—07:00**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

Gilbert strutted down the steps, whistling some old Prussian tune merrily to himself, into the galley where he was greeted by an exhausted looking Hungarian man, a bright eyed Dane, an impish Romanian, and a stone faced Swede with two mugs of coffee in his hands, all gathered around a beautiful oak table borrowed from a castle in Austria.

"M'rnin Capt'n," Berwald said, handing Gilbert one of his cups of coffee.

"_Guten morgen_," Gilbert replied with a wide smile. He glanced around searchingly.

"If you're looking for James, he hasn't come back down yet. Stepped one foot into the galley, then Mircea nearly knocked him down and told him you needed him," Daniel, the Hungarian, muttered.

"I already apologised! Give me a break!" the Romanian yelled.

"Doesn't matter. You're still a childish fool, Romanian," Daniel said.

"Hey, Sve, think I could have another cup of _kaffe_? I took James's watch last night 'cuz the poor guy had that massive headache," Mathias said loudly. The Dane gave Berwald his best puppy dog eyes.

"Here, I'll get it for you. I have to re-make my breakfast _cuppa_ anyways," Iona interjected, grabbing Mathias' mug and carrying it over to the stove.

"Thank you much! Don't forget the sugar!" Mathias grinned.

"Don't worry, I won't," the Scot said, pouring the coffee and making a show of putting in the sugar for Mathias's benefit. She then proceeded to pour hot water into her own mug and drop a packet of Scottish breakfast tea leaves in.

"So, James, your head feeling any better?" Daniel said politely, looking the Scot in the eye insincerely.

"Aye," came the curt response followed by a long sip of tea. The rest of breakfast was had in silence as none of the crew members, save Mathias, were morning people.

"So, _Kapitány_, what's the plan? I'm ready for some action," Daniel said.

Mathias brightened at the mention of action. "Yeah, when are we meeting up with Toni and Francie's crews? We are going to attack Kirkland's ship, aren't we? I heard he's got some American wench aboard, and if what I've heard about those American girls is true, I'd love to get my hands on those-oof! Ow! Berwald! That hurt!"

"St'p being an idi't," Berwald grumbled as the Dane rubbed his side where the Swede had elbowed him.

"It's true! Back me up here, Jamesy-boy! Surely a Scotsman would understand, right?"

Iona looked at him with an incredulous expression.

"I willnae," she sniffed.

"Aw, come on! Don't be such a girl!"

Gilbert and Iona froze for a fraction of a second and looked at each other with matching faces of alarm.

"Relax! It was just a joke! It's not like you're actually a girl! Everyone knows that's bad luck!" Mircea laughed, trying to break the tension. He gave Iona a look when he was sure the others weren't paying attention.

"Hmph. Don't be such _dummkopfs. _You're part of the Awesome Me's crew, and you'll act like it. I need to get back to my office. James, make sure these fools do their work. I want my beautiful ship running as awesomely as its captain does. We need to make our preparations now, before we dock with Francis and Antonio, which is this evening. _Ja_?" Gilbert ordered, pushing his seat back and turning to leave.

"Aye, Captain. I will make sure everything goes accordingly," Iona replied with a hard look at Gilbert.

"What are our assignments, Cap?" Daniel asked earnestly.

"Daniel, get in touch with _La Liberté _and _The_ _Corazón_. Patch them through to _mein_ office. Mircea, you and James go do what I talked with both of you about last night. Mathias, navigate us within sight of Kirkland's ship, but stay far enough away that they don't know we're there. Berwald, bring me a beer in my office and then man the guns. I will give you all more orders later on, but for now, get to work!"

A chorus of "Aye, captain"s and "Yes sir"s sounded around the kitchen and Gilbert's crew scurried off.

_Mein Gott, I love being captain sometimes. I can just tell them to do all of the stuff that I don't want to do, and they do it! Maybe, if I ordered Iona to…Nein. Not now, Gilbert. There will be ample opportunities later tonight..._

Try as he might, Gilbert couldn't rid his mind of the image of Iona wearing only an old nightshirt of his, long enough to cover the important parts, but short enough to keep him very interested. She thought he didn't know that she'd stolen his old shirt, and for the most part, Io was good at scooting past him before he could see her walk into her room across the hall every night, but every once in a while, he looked up two seconds too soon and caught sight of his first mate looking like the female she was.

"_Scheiße_," he muttered to himself, feeling a warmth spreading through his lower body, hoping the others wouldn't notice their captain turning bright red.

Berwald gave him an odd look at the curse, but said nothing and continued to clean the kitchen.

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan—09:00**

Mircea skipped happily up the stairs leading to the top-most deck, his long black cloak flying behind him.

"Come on, James! It's time to do magic!" he called behind him with a grin.

"You and I both know that the coast is clear, Stupid. You can call me by my name. The others are too scared of magic to bother us anyways," Iona called back, her own dark blue and silver cloak swishing around her legs, joining the long black skirt she wore in nearly tripping her.

Magic time, as Mircea called it in his head, was the only time she didn't crossdress, meaning that only the Romanian and Captain Beilschmidt were aware that she was actually a girl. Mircea knew why she had to keep her identity hidden, especially when they were planning to attack her younger brother's ship. If Arthur Kirkland ever found out that his older sister had taken up with a pirate captain, they'd all be dead. That was why Mircea appreciated these times, moments when he could see the girl Iona once was, and the young woman she could be, if only she hadn't joined a pirate crew. He liked these times.

"Sorry, 'ona. Force of habit," the strawberry blond said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head and nearly losing his bowler hat to the wind.

"Do you want to draw out the spell, or should I?" Iona asked, holding out a piece of charcoal in one hand, and a piece of chalk in the other.

"I'll do the spell itself, if you'll do the outer spells. As an added bonus, I'll let you start the incantation this time!" Mircea replied, taking the chalk. They set about their work, Mircea drawing the five-pointed star and the runes for the particular spell, while Iona hopped from point to point, writing minor spells in old Scots Gaelic behind Mircea's Latin inscriptions. Fifteen minutes later, the two stood side by side, admiring their handiwork.

"Okay, you know what to say?" Mircea said.

"Aye, Ah do," was the short answer. They walked to opposite ends of the star and sat cross-legged, placing various minor items of value into gold plates in the centre of the star as they went to their places.

"Ready?" Iona said, looking the Romanian in the eye.

"As ever. Let's go," Mircea said calmly.

Iona began to chant in Latin as the wind picked up. The items in the plates caught fire, but burned a wicked blue colour.

She repeated the phrase a second time while Mircea joined in. The entire circle began to glow, and the wind started howling.

They chanted a third time, and the outer spells glowed black.

The fourth and final repetition, they yelled, and suddenly, the entire ship was enveloped in bright white light. Far away ahead of the ship, an identical light was spotted on the horizon, and to the west, another. Down below, they could hear Gilbert swear loudly, most likely startled out of an impromptu nap.

The wind died down, the flames disappeared, and the chalk and charcoal drawings were back to normal as the two sorcerers looked at each other, red eyes meeting grey.

"Did it work?" Mircea asked sheepishly.

"Aye," Iona said breathlessly. She looked pale and exhausted, but satisfied.

"Should we go back down, or…?"

"Will you bring me my clothes and bindings? And maybe a glass of water?" Iona asked weakly. Mircea nodded and ran downstairs, paying no heed to the layers of cloth that threatened to hinder his movements.

"How'd it go, Magic Man?" Mathias asked, grinning widely.

"I think it went well. James said it did, but he's stronger than I am," Mircea replied hurriedly. He ducked into Iona's room, grabbed the items she'd requested, and ducked back out, making an effort to hide his bundle from the eyes of anyone who might be in the hallway.

"Here ya go! It was a bit of a close call with Mathias, but I'm faster than he is, so no worries! Now be quick while I go get you that water. Do you want me to send the captain up?"

"Privacy, please," was the growled reply. Mircea handed the young woman her things and ran back downstairs, all the way to the galley. He counted off ten minutes before going back up to the top deck with the water. By that point, Iona had changed back into blue pants and a loose, billowy white shirt, hair back in a ponytail. If he hadn't known any better, Mircea would've thought that she was simply a really girly male.

"Ta gey muckle, Mircea. How are you feeling?" she said with a wan smile.

"A little tired, but not too bad. Should we go down and check with Gil now?" Mircea answered carefully.

"Na, he's radioing wi' Francis 'n' Antonio. It'll be a while before he's done. They _clishmaclaver_ like a bunch of milkmaids," Iona chuckled softly.

"They what?"

"They gossip. It's Scottish slang."

"...Oh. So what should we do?"

"Just stay up here for a while. It's nice out today, and the cold feels good."

Mircea nodded.

"I'll be right back. I need to go change."

Iona nodded a little and then lay down, using her skirt and blouse as a pillow.

She was still lying there a few minutes later when he returned, eyes closed and a small smile on her face. Mircea sat down beside her, alternating between watching the clouds and looking at the girl he considered his best friend, until he realised that he'd forgotten something downstairs. Making sure that Iona was asleep, he scurried back down into the main hallway, trying to remember where he'd left his hat. He stopped as he passed the captain's office, quietly pressing his ear to the door.

"_Ja_, everything is in place. The plan is a go. Rendezvous at 22:00?"

* * *

**Translations:**

**Der Adler: The Eagle (German)**

**Characters so far:**

**Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland: England**

**Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie: Scotland(OC)**

**Sean Kirkland-Mackenzie: Ireland( OC)**

**Colin Kirkland-Mackenzie: Northern Ireland(OC)**

**Dylan Kirkland-Mackenzie: Wales(OC)**

**Alistair James Kirkland-Mackenzie: Scotland(Highlands)(OC)**

**Antonio Carriedo: Spain**

**Ludwig Beilschmidt: Germany**

**Abel Dahl: Netherlands**

**Romana Vargas: South Italy**

**Feliciana Vargas: North Italy**

**Francis Bonnefoy: France**

**Matthew Williams: Canada**

**Vash Zwingli: Switzerland**

**Kiku Honda: Japan**

**Amelia Jones: America**

**Mircea Bălan: Romania**

**Daniel Héderváry: male Hungary**

**Berwald Oxenstierna: Sweden**

**Mathias Køhler: Denmark**

**Gilbert Beilschmidt: Prussia**

**That's all for now, folks!**


	4. Chapter 4: Esté Preparado

**_La_ _Liberté—_March 2nd, 1890—16:00**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

"_Oui, oui, je sais, mes amis,_" Francis said into the radio microphone. He could almost see Gilbert's demon-eyed glare through the speaker, and Antonio's clueless tone gave away how unprepared all three captains felt. What they were planning was difficult. Very difficult.

"_Ja_, but how do we know that James and Mircea's spell worked? How do we know that Kirkland isn't already preparing his guns and cannons and magic to blow us right out of the skies? My crew is awesome, because they're my crew, but they're still just human," came Gilbert's nervous reply. Francis knew that Gilbert's confidence from the beginning of their conversation had all but disappeared as the three men had continued talking. Reality was beginning to hit them.

"We hope for the best, obviously! _Suéltalo_!" Antonio said cheerily.

"Toni, we don't speak fucking Spanish. What the hell did you just say?" Gilbert hissed.

"I said let it go! If the spell was successful, then the spell was successful. If not, well, then, I enjoyed being friends with you two, _mis_ _amigos_!" Antonio said.

Francis ran a hand through his blond hair, admiring how long it had gotten for a moment. He let out a frustrated yet resigned sigh.

"Anyways, the plan is still the same. At 22:00 we will rendezvous on my ship since I am the closest to Kirkland. We will divide our crews up into teams and conquer from there, _non?_" Francis said.

"_Ja_, sounds good to me."

"_Sí_, _bueno_!"

"_Tres bien_. I will see you two then. Oh, and Gilbert, say hello to James for me, will you?" Francis said as he signaled to Yao to turn off the radio. All he heard in response was a grunt and then static.

_ Ohonhonhon I cannot wait to see the look on that stupid scone-eating fool's face when he realises that he's flown straight into a trap! _ Francis thought with an evil grin. James was the first Scottish person he'd met since Iona, and he always felt that by saying hello to James, he was also saying hello to his former girlfriend. He glanced over at a picture of four teens that sat on his desk. It wasn't difficult to recognise him, Gilbert, and Antonio, even with their hair slicked back and their uniforms in pristine condition. They had been such cocky little twerps back then, thinking the entire world was at their fingertips, if they could only just obtain an airship and some people stupid enough to follow them. Francis' gaze rested on the fourth person in the photo, a young woman with dark, elbow-length hair pulled back halfway, and extremely light eyes. She wore a slight smile, taunting almost, as though she were up to something that the three boys behind her did not know. Her white dress was without a single speck of dirt, and the tips of her black boots peeked out from underneath her skirt. Francis let out a wistful sigh and turned away from the picture.

The Frenchman went about making sure his crew and his ship were ready for the approaching mission.

"Zwingli! Make sure that all weapons are towards the door for ease of distribution. Also, make sure that there is no alcohol in sight. We cannot afford any mistakes brought about by alcohol," he barked, making his first mate jump slightly.

"Yes sir! I'll have Feliks do that now," came the curt reply.

Francis continued walking from room to room, checking on his little four person crew.

"Matthieu, make sure that Arthur's ship does not leave our range. Hopefully, the spell that Gilbert's men cast has taken effect by now."

"Y-yes s-sir," the Canadian stuttered.

"Yao! Make me some tea, but none of that disgusting British _merde_. Oolong sounds delightful right now."

"I will immediately, Captain!" the Chinese man said with a mock salute.

Francis walked into the small dining room of the ship and sat down at the head, putting his feet up on the table. What in the world were they getting themselves into? Were they really going to try to take on a rogue English sky privateer?

The Frenchman thought about his opponent and longtime enemy. The Englishman had hated him ever since he had spent three years courting Arthur's older sister, only to break things off in favour of becoming a pirate. Francis sighed at the thought of Iona, wondering how she was faring with both parents and her twin brother dead, while another brother was a glorified pirate. He felt bad for having left her, abruptly ending their three year relationship when he'd found himself a ship and other beautiful girls with much less stringent morals. However, that didn't stop him from remembering how he'd showered her with beautiful clothing, flowers, perfumes, and extravagant trips while her youngest brother seethed at the thought of his sister even considering marrying a "Frenchie". Even more ironic had been the fact that Iona's own twin brother, Alistair, had actually approved wholeheartedly of Francis' intentions, and the other three Kirkland-Mackenzie siblings had also enjoyed his company. He would never tell anyone as much, but he still had a few of the dresses he'd meant to give to Iona stashed away in his room, waiting for the right moment to present them to her. Granted, they were nothing in comparison to his own fabulous wardrobe, but then again, not much really could compare.

"Sir, everything is ready. The rest of the crew would like to know if they are allowed to take a bit of a rest before tonight's mission," a voice said, bringing Francis out of his reverie. He looked up and made eye contact with Vash.

"I don't see any reason why not. You and I need to discuss the plan anyway, as I'm sure Toni and Gil have already done, or are currently doing, with their own first mates. Tell the men that they have four hours to do whatever they want, but that they should be ready to eat and then move once those four hours are up. Understood? The others will be here in six hours," Francis said. Vash nodded and hurried out of the dining room. The Swiss man came back in a few moments later, and took his seat at the right hand of his captain, knowing that this was where he would, rather regretfully, spend his four hour break.

**_El Corazón—_March 2nd, 1890—19:00**

**Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo**

Antonio hummed cheerily to himself as he walked down to the galley.

_I wonder if we have any churros...I would kill for some right now..._ he thought, visions of _churros_ with chocolate and coffee and caramel and other various toppings danced in his head. He loved being a captain, but he certainly did miss Spain. He was not expecting the scene that greeted him in the kitchen.

_"¡Ay Dios Mío! _What in this world is going on?"he yelled. A pair of amber eyes glared back at him.

"Stupid Spanish _bastardo_ and your stupid ship. There's nothing to eat on this God-forsaken piece of crap! What the fuck am I supposed to eat?" Romana growled.

"The same thing that the rest of us eat, of course!" Antonio said.

"What? Ew, no! I'm not eating the same shit as the rest of you fucking pirates! Don't you have any pizza, or maybe some tomatoes? Hell, I'll even take pasta with meatballs! Just give me something! I'm starving!" the Italian girl fumed. Her face was turning a brilliant shade of red, and Antonio could almost see the hair on her head becoming increasingly frizzy and messy from anger.

Suddenly, a loud growl echoed throughout the room, stopping both of them in their tracks.

The two stood in stunned silence for a moment.

"Romana...was that you?" Antonio sheepishly asked as his stomach gave a small growl of its own.

"Of course that was me, you idiot! I just told you, I'm starving!" she yelled.

"Okay, okay, let me see what we can find for you, _mi tomato pequeña_," he said, putting his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

"What did you just call me?" she hissed.

"Well, you look like a tomato, so..."

"Don't. You. Dare."

"Anyways, let's find you something to eat! We have a big night tonight, and we need to make sure that everybody has the energy!" Antonio said with a smile, diving into the icebox. A few moments later, he resurfaced with some bread and cheese, which Romana quickly snatched from him.

"Good enough. I'll be in my room, idiot. Don't bother me," she said. Antonio watched her walk away before returning to the icebox to find something for himself. His efforts were rewarded with some _gazpacho_ sitting in a bowl at the back.

_What a cute girl. It's a pity she has the mouth of a forty year old man, but she really is quite lovely,_ he thought to himself.

Happily, the young captain downed his soup, dipping small pieces of bread in it, wishing he had some _sangria_ to accompany the meal. For a little while, he could forget about the Italian stowaways and the looming Eastern threat, erase the planned attack on Kirkland's ship from his mind, and pretend he was back in Seville, enjoying a nice day in the weeks leading up to _Semana_ _Santa_.

"Captain, you are needed," Ludwig said, much too soon for Antonio's liking.

"_Sí, _I know. Just give me a few more minutes, Ludwig."

"No, Captain, now. It's only three hours until we rendezvous with Captains Beilschmidt and Bonnefoy. Viktor needs help with making sure the ship connectors are ready so that the docking process will be as smooth as possible. We don't have time to waste, sir."

Antonio hung his head, looking down at the half-full bowl of _gazpacho_ in front of him.

"Don't worry, sir. There'll be time for your soup later, but for now, we need you."

The Spaniard pushed back from the table, not even bothering to clear his plate if he was coming back later.

He and Ludwig walked to the main door of the ship, currently shut and sealed tightly by a series of locks and gears. Standing to the right of the door was a tired man with bright green eyes and straight black hair neatly parted down the middle. He was alternating between cursing in Bulgarian and cursing in English while glaring at a small screen.

"Damn thing was working for us two days ago in Amsterdam when we needed to stock up on alcohol, but isn't working for us now when we need it to hook up with the others. Damn fucking piece of shit," he grumbled.

"Need some help there, _amigo_?" Antonio said with a smile. The Bulgarian man looked up at him.

"You wouldn't know how to set the correct information for Bonnefoy's ship, would you? It keeps telling me I'm in-putting incorrect numbers," he said.

"Hmm...Let me take a look at it, Viktor. Most likely, Francis' radioman gave me the incorrect measurements. Doors only come in certain sizes, so the computer only recognises standard numbers. _Vale_, let's see," Antonio played around with the small computer for a moment, "Aha! There's our problem! You're not used to working in a more Western style, are you? You were putting the decimals in the wrong places, Viktor. No worries! I'll teach you after the raid, _sí?" _

"Yes sir. _Blagodarya_," Viktor said, bowing his head slightly.

"_De nada, amigo!_ Now, is there anything else?"

"Nope! I got it all taken care of! You might want to go check on Heracles. Last time I walked past the bridge, he had fallen asleep. He was up really late last night, talking about a bunch of philosophical stuff. I know, because I heard him muttering to himself about 'the soul' and 'what would Plato do?' and all of that."

"I will make a point of it, Viktor. Carry on, then, and report to me once you're done," Antonio said.

He and Ludwig left the entrance area of the ship and ventured into Antonio's study.

"Do you think we're ready for tonight, Ludwig? I can't help but worry about such an undertaking, especially now that we have those two girls on our ship. I don't want to be responsible if something happens to them."

"_Ja_, Captain, I think we're ready. We certainly have the advantage. My brother's crew has two powerful sorcerers and some very wicked fighters to boot. Francis' crew may lack in any sort of true fighting ability, with the exception of that gun-toting, trigger-happy first mate of his, but they're good at distracting opponents long enough for the rest of us to actually succeed, and heaven knows that Kirkland will be too busy arguing with Bonnefoy to really use any of his own magic against us. As for this crew, I have the utmost faith in us, with the glaring exception of the two girls. Otherwise, I feel that we will be successful in this endeavour. However, you should probably start preparing yourself. I will leave you be and do the same. Good day, Captain."

With that, Ludwig was gone, leaving Antonio to sit in his office alone to face the knot of dread growing in his stomach.


	5. Chapter 5: Calm Before the Storm

**_The English Rose—_March 2nd, 1890—21:25**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"It's been much too quiet lately, don't you think, Mister Honda? Nobody's tried to blow our brains out in at least two weeks, the Russian Federation and the Eastern Republic have both been silent lately, and even Old Frogface disappeared earlier today. Now it's just us and the open skies," Arthur mused, toying with the feather in his hat.

"Indeed, it has, Arthur-san. I've been feeling a sense of unease as well. All day, I've had the odd notion that perhaps we are being followed, even before the French ship dropped out. I believe we should be on our guard for tonight, but I wouldn't give it too much thought," Kiku said, glancing out the window at the night sky. It was a cloudy night over the eastern border of France, but the Japanese man could still see towers of billowing smoke coming from various factories below them.

"Has there even been any word on the Russians? I'm not too worried about the Eastern Republic. They're mainly focused in Asia. It's the Russians that scare me. Have you heard the reports from Bucharest? The city's been taken over, and the Romanian government has had to relocate. They say that they're working towards Moldova **and **Bulgaria now. Not to mention the fact that they've already taken Ukraine and Belarus, and they're also working their way through Poland. Western Europe needs to be preparing for war," Arthur said with a tired look.

"I would agree, most certainly, but you, as well as everyone, knows that none of the European powers can cooperate long enough to draw up a battle plan, not when they're too worried about their own countries individually to think about the whole of Europe. For now, I believe it is every man for himself, as you Europeans say."

Arthur let out a small grunt and leaned back in his chair. Someone knocked on the door, but didn't wait for the response before opening.

"Miss Jones, what have I told you about proper etiquette?"

"Sorry, Cap. I was just wandering around the ship. You didn't tell me you had so many awesome guns stashed around here! I mean, my dad was in the military, so he had a bunch of them lying around our house, but you, you've got ten times as many as he did! It's so awesome! You gotta let me try some of them out sometime!" the American woman exclaimed. Her face lit up as she talked about the many firearms Arthur kept on _The __English__ Rose_ and Arthur felt his blood pressure rising.

"Miss Jones, did it not occur to you that my first mate and I are having an actual discussion of some importance here?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Actually, Arthur-san, I was about to take my leave of you anyway. Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss Amelia," Kiku said, bowing. He shut the door quietly behind him.

"So this is your office? It's kind of... boring. Where are the personal touches? Don't you have any family or anything?" Amelia said, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking back and forth on her feet. She still hadn't changed out of that damn skirt that might as well have not been there, for all it covered, and Arthur had to fight the heat rising in his face.

"I feel it to be inappropriate for a man of my status to show off my private life to the public. This is my workspace, not some home office to be displayed for all to see."

"That's boring. You must not have a great relationship with your family, then. I know that if I had my own office, I'd decorate it with tons of pictures of me and my cousins! We're from each of the fifty states!"

"I'm the youngest of six," Arthur said quickly, answering her question only for the sole purpose of getting her out of his office as soon as possible.

"Six? Jeez! Your parents must have really loved each other to do that enough to get six kids!"

"Four of my older siblings are twins."

"Oh. I see. What are they like?"

"My oldest brother, Alistair, and both of my parents are dead, Alistair's twin sister, Iona, abandoned us on Christmas Day five years ago, one of my brothers, Dylan, is married to a girl in Wales, and the other set of twins, Sean and Colin, owns a department store in Ireland." Arthur had long ago learned to not care about the tragic story of his family. What sort of captain would he be if he broke down in tears at the mere mention of his family?

"No wonder you're so grumpy all the time. I would be too if my family was like that."

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Miss Jones?"

"Hey! I'm just trying to be friendly! No need to throw me out!"

"I don't want to talk about my family. Now is not the time. It's 21:30, and I still have things I have to do. Goodnight, Miss Jones."

Amelia stuck her bottom lip out in a pout and gave him a large, blue-eyed puppy-dog stare.

"I said, _goodnight Miss Jones_," Arthur growled, glaring at her.

"Fine. Nighty-night, Artie. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

The American turned on her heel and sauntered out, slamming the door so hard, it knocked a few books off of the shelves.

Arthur ran a hand through messy blond hair.

"That woman will be the death of me," he sighed aloud. Talking about his family had opened a can of worms he really hadn't wanted to, and he felt the need to drink it away, but the pit in his stomach reminded him that he needed to be alert.

_How in the world did we even end up taking her as our prisoner? Was it in Washington? No, we found her in London, trying to rob my old house. Should've just shot the damn girl and been done with it. Why didn't I? Oh, right, she's an attractive thing...until she opens that mouth of hers_, he thought to himself.

The door creaked open slowly.

"I told you, Miss Jones, go away. I will not repeat myself again!" the Englishman snapped. He heard a small whimper.

"I'm sorry, Captain Arthur. I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just wondering if you were going to want Mister Tino to make you some tea before you go to your room tonight, sir," a young boy said.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were that obnoxious American. Tea would be lovely, Stefan," Arthur smiled gently at the young Moldovan.

"I'll go tell Mister Tino," Stefan said, turning to leave before freezing in the doorway.

"What is it, Stefan?"

"The hallways are really dark, and my big brother isn't here to walk with me."

The boy sniffled a little, his big red-brown eyes tearing up.

"Here, I'll walk with you," Arthur said. He liked the little Moldovan cabin boy for his innocence and unwavering faith in the Englishman, even if his older brother was a member of Gilbert Beilschmidt's crew. The boy reminded him of himself, back before Arthur had lost his parents and his eldest siblings, and he knew that all of them, especially Iona, would've wanted him to take care of the boy.

"Thank you!" Stefan replied, giving Arthur a large, fanged smile.

"I guess Kiku must have turned off the hallway lights on his way to his room. Don't worry, my boy. No monster will be getting you tonight," Arthur chuckled as he and Stefan walked down to the galley.

"What about other pirates?"

"No other pirates will hurt us either, I swear."

**_Der Adler—_21:45**

**First Mate Iona "James" Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"I don't see why in hell I'm not allowed to go onto Arthur's ship. If anyone's going to give us an advantage against him, it's me, you idiot!" Iona yelled. She paced around Gilbert's office, her long mahogany braid whipping around behind her like the tail of a very angry cat.

"We'll be fine without you. We need someone to stay and defend the ships while we're gone, and who better than an awesome Celtic sorceress? The Awesome Me doesn't just trust anyone with my ship, so you should be honoured," Gilbert said nonchalantly. Iona narrowed her stormy grey eyes at him.

"I should be honoured? Gilbert, you're letting your ego get in your way. This 'I don't trust anyone with my ship' stuff is bullshit. You have ten seconds to tell me why you really don't want me to go, or else I'll set off an alarm and alert my darling brother of the imminent attack. You got that, Gilbert?" she said, halting in front of Gilbert's desk. Gibert's mask of confidence dropped.

"Well...uh..."

"Ten."

"About that."

"Nine...eight...seven."

"You see..."

"Six...five...fou-"

"Because I don't want you getting hurt, that's why!"

"And?"

"And because if something happened and Arthur found out that you were my girlfriend, we'd all be hexed into next century."

"And?"

"And because I don't entirely trust that Feliks kid to watch all three of our ships by himself, okay?"

"There we go."

"But mainly, I just don't want you to get hurt or be found out because then, I'd probably have to send you away."

"I'm not going to get caught. I'll even keep Mircea with me. Lord knows that we have enough magic between the two of us to blow all four ships out of the sky if we needed to. Mir may be a little immature sometimes, but he knows when it's time to be serious. I'll be fine, Gil. I'm more worried about you getting yourself killed. I'm not ready to be Captain Mackenzie," the Scotswoman said. She uncrossed her arms and sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at the albino captain.

"Pfft, I'll be fine. I'm too awesome and manly to get killed by your wimpy little brother and his band of 'gentlemen.' I'm invincible!" Gilbert said, standing up so that he now towered over Iona.

"You'd better be. I'm not paying for your funeral," Iona said, looking away from him. Gilbert sobered up, his gaze softening. He walked around so that he was in front of her and looked her in the eye.

"You won't have to, Iona. If I allow you to go with us, do you promise that, once the group splits up to take care of the entirety of Kirkland's crew, you'll be safe? I don't think I could afford to lose you. It would completely un-awesome," he said, lifting her face. He placed a soft kiss on her lips, which tasted of caramel and whiskey and cinnamon, and then rested his forehead against hers. The young woman smirked, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes.

"Aye, I promise. I'll stay out of Arthur's sight. Mircea and I will just go about raiding the treasure hold. Knowing my brother, he's picked up some pretty pieces along his travels, all under the auspices of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. I could find something nice to wear later tonight when we-"

Iona wasn't able to finish her sentence as Gilbert kissed her again, this time harder and much more passionately. He pushed her down onto the desk, playing with the hem of her shirt. Iona said and did nothing, allowing Gilbert the chance to get rid of his sexual frustration, her mind completely detached from her body.

"We shouldn't be doing this. No more. Not now, you fool. You out of all of us need to have a clear mind. Get off of me," she finally hissed. Gilbert looked at her, hurt but understanding.

"Heh, you're right. I should save the real fun for after we're victorious. Go get ready, Miss Mackenzie. Be ready and armed at the airlock in five."

"Aye, Captain," Iona said, standing up, pulling on her trousers, and tucking in her shirt.

**_El Corazón—21:50_**

**Captain Antonio FernándezCarriedo**

Antonio holstered two pistols and checked for his extra ammunition hidden safely in his pocket. He glanced at the two Italian girls sitting behind his desk.

"You two will stay out of sight, okay? If anything happens, scream and I'll come find you both."

The girls nodded and Feliciana burst into tears, frightened by the flurry of activity and weaponry going on outside the door.

**_La Liberté—21:50_**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

"Guns, check. Sword, check. Devilish good looks? _Oui!_ I do believe I'm prepared," Francis thought aloud. He looked around his private study one last time, eyes falling on the photograph sitting on the desk.

"_Merde_. I would be a fool to leave that behind, just in case anything happened to my beautiful ship."

He slipped the picture out of its frame and tucked it safely in the pocket of his coat.

"Captain, we're all ready. Both ships are coming in to dock now, and we're rapidly approaching Kirkland's ship," Vash said, sticking his head in the door.

"Thank you, Vash. Make sure everyone is at the entrance, ready to greet our guests."

**_Der Adler—_21:59**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

Gilbert grinned confidently. His crew was assembled, collectively holding their breath in preparation for docking with Francis' ship. Mathias and Berwald stood together, looking calm and collected, rifles in hand. Daniel, who was temporarily taking over as Gilbert's right-hand man, stood off to his side, occasionally glancing at the Prussian, waiting for any sort of direction. Mircea and Embra sat on the floor directly in front of the airlock, both wearing long, dark cloaks with intricate embroidery, but otherwise were dressed in pants and shirts and boots. Iona was leaning up against Mircea's legs, playing with a loose string on one of the Romanian's boots. Gilbert let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Just seeing his girlfriend wearing masculine clothing made him feel a little less nervous about her being found out.

Gilbert checked his watch, and at exactly 22:00, all of them were nearly knocked off of their feet and onto the floor as they docked with the French ship, and the airlock opened. The crew of _Der_ _Adler_ was greeted by the blond Frenchman and his tiny crew, and on the other side of the ship, through the second airlock, they could see Antonio's crew meeting the same greeting.

"So, _mes amis_, are we ready?" Francis sneered.

"Full speed towards _The __English__ Rose_! Viktor, get the other airlock ready!" Antonio yelled.

"We do this, now!" Gilbert added, earning a cheer from all three crews.

The three airships moved at full speed towards the English ship as one giant unit. The time had finally come.


	6. Chapter 6: Roundtable Rivals

**_El Corazón—_March 2nd_, _1890—22:10**

**Romana Vargas**

"I can't believe they just left us here! I mean, come on! What if some creepy pirate guy sneaks onto the ship and finds us? I don't even want to think about what he might do!" Romana said. She glanced worriedly at the revolver in her hands. "I don't even know how to work this damn thing! How the hell does that bastard expect us to be able to defend ourselves?"

"_Ve, sorella_, calm down. We'll be okay! Mister Ludwig said so!" Feliciana said with a smile. In the three months they'd been on the ship, Feliciana had become close to the German first mate, or as close to him as anyone could really get.

"I don't care what that stupid krautface told you! He's not a fortune teller! He doesn't even like us!"

"Well, Mister Abel is still on the ship. He'll make sure we don't get hurt!"

"He doesn't like us either! None of these damn pirates like us! Get that through your head, Feli! They're only keeping us around as a bargaining chip."

"Well, at least that means they're gonna let us live~"

"Hmph. Come on, Feli. Let's go explore the ship. I'm not gonna spend my entire evening cooped up in this tiny God-forsaken room! Any stupid pirate who decides to try to attack us is going to have hell to pay," Romana said. She opened the door and walked out, followed quickly by her sister.

The two girls crept quietly though the hallway, much as they had for the three days before Antonio's men had found them a few months ago, but for much different reasons. Everything was silent, except for faint voices coming from the airlocks.

"We must be getting close to that stupid English ship. I think everybody's gathered near our second lock."

"_Ve~ _I wonder if there's any pasta in the kitchen."

"There isn't, Feli. I checked earlier. There's nothing."

The ship was rocked again, and the two females heard the sound of the second airlock opening.

"Heh, the stupid Englishman must've been enjoying the evening! They left their airlock open!" they heard someone say with a strong Danish accent.

All at once, they heard captains giving out orders and people leaving the ship in small groups until finally, everything was completely silent.

"They're all...gone..." was all Romana could say.

"Shouldn't you two be back in the captain's office?" came a gruff voice behind them. Abel loomed over them, pipe between his teeth. Both girls cowered.

"Right, we'll be getting back now," Feliciana squeaked.

The Dutchman followed them all the way to Antonio's office, personally making sure to shut the door behind him.

"Hmph. He's rude!" Feliciana pouted. Romana just nodded, too pissed off for words.

**_The English Rose—_22:30**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

"Come on, Iona. We need to find this treasure room before the other magic user Gilbert told us about finds us," Mircea whispered. He and Iona tiptoed through the main hallway of the very large English ship.

"I'm right behind you, stupid. Now be quiet," Iona hissed.

"Wait...how're we gonna know this room when we find it?" Mircea asked.

"No idea, but if I know Arthur Kirkland at all, he's put his most powerful crew member on guard of their treasure room, so I figure we look for the most powerful looking crew member. Either that, or some sort of room that isn't like the others. I'm really not sure, Mir," Iona said.

"Guess we'll find out soon enough," Mircea shrugged.

Suddenly, Iona pulled him inside a doorway and clamped a hand over his mouth. They both fell backwards into an empty closet, Mircea accidentally kicking the door shut.

"_Rahat!_ What the hell was that for?" the Romanian muttered.

"I thought I heard someone coming. Will you get off of me? I can barely breathe with you sitting on top of me. You smell awful, Mir," Iona said. Mircea was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was on top of the Scotswoman, and while he couldn't actually see her, he knew that her face was bright red and her expression murderous.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, standing up. He reached out a gloved hand in front of where he knew her face must be, and felt her take it.

"I think it's safe, but we have to be **quiet**," she said.

They stepped back out into the hallway, greeted only by the distant sounds of metal clanging and punches being thrown.

A few doors later, they found a stairwell leading down into the very heart of the ship.

"This has to be it," Mircea said. Iona nodded, pulling her hood over her head. The Scotswoman led the way, trying to be as silent as possible on the stairs.

At the bottom, they found exactly what they were looking for. Chests were overflowing with gold and jewels, and an entire dresser was covered in various tiaras, necklaces, and women's hair combs encrusted with valuable stones. Immediately, Iona yanked her hood down, and untied her ponytail, letting her hair fall in waves over her shoulders and down her back.

"Look at it all, Mircea! It's _bonnie_!" she cried, taking a tiara in her hands. She placed it on her head and marveled at the headpiece in a nearby mirror.

"My lady," Mircea said, dramatically bowing. He watched as his friend picked up various "sparklies" and tried them on, laughing with delight at all of the valuables.

"C'mere!" Iona said. He closed the gap between them and felt her take his shirt, pulling him closer. His heart raced a little until he realised what she was doing. He looked down at his shirt after she released him and saw that she had pinned a small medal on his chest, and then recognised the piece as being Romanian.

"How'd you know?" he asked with a grin.

"It looked like it would suit you. Lucky guess."

"No, really."

"That picture of you and your family that you showed me that one time. Your dad was wearing a medal like this. I remembered it."

This earned an even bigger and very fanged smile from the Romanian. He looked over the dresser, searching for something to give Iona in return. His eyes finally landed on a set of hair combs with diamond flowers on them.

"Well, I do believe such a gift deserves something in return. Lower your head," he said. Iona complied, and Mircea clumsily twisted the combs into her messy hair.

"There we go! And look at that dressing gown!"

He walked over to a chaise and picked up a pink silk dressing gown, obviously oriental in origin.

"I want it," was all Iona could say.

"We can use it to carry loot!" Mircea said, suddenly remembering that they did have an actual mission. The two gathered up the robe, making it so that they could use it to carry things, and started piling as much as they could into their makeshift bag.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" a cool voice behind them said. The Scot and the Romanian froze. A young man with pale blond hair stood on the stairs looking bored. Mircea noticed that he had an odd curly cowlick sticking out behind him.

"We're just helping you guys organise! We'll get going now," he said sheepishly.

"Wrong. I'm under strict orders to protect this room. You two try stepping out of here with that in tow, and you'll both be fried to a crisp," the man said in what sounded like some sort of Nordic accent.

"That would be very ambitious of you, kid," Iona smirked. She locked eyes with the man for a moment before chuckling, "I do believe we know a good friend of yours, Lukas. No, wait, we know two of your friends. They're actually here on the ship tonight. We're just small fry," she said knowingly.

"H-how'd you do that?"

"That's one of the first spells I learned as a _bairn_: mind reading spell. It's very simple. My mother taught me, and I taught all of my brothers, as well as my associate here. Nothing big, really. I only learnt what I needed to."

"Hmph. I still can't let you pass," Lukas said.

"Very well, then. Just promise us you'll give a good fight," Mircea said. He and Iona put down their load and brandished weapons. The Romanian lunged at the blond man, but was hit in the arm with something cold—ice.

"So you're Arthur's magician, are you? Goody. I was looking forward to this," Mircea sneered.

The Romanian prepared his own counter spell, aiming for the other's heart, but Lukas moved ever so slightly, breaking Mircea's focus. A flash of light flew past him and hit the man on the leg before Iona moved in, armed with a dagger.

"Take the spell off now, or else I won't miss your head next time," she growled.

"As if. I have my orders," Lukas spat.

Both Iona and Mircea responded with spells, but again, Lukas dodged them.

"Come on, Norwegian. You're no fun," Iona taunted. She shot a beam of red light at Lukas' chest, narrowly missing his heart, while Mircea went in with his own dagger, getting the man in the other leg. The Norwegian howled.

"I do suggest you reconsider. We're much more likely to be merciful if yo—" Iona began to say, only to be punched in the gut.

"Watch who you're hitting, creep! Iona, are you okay?" Mircea yelled.

"Aye! I'm fine! Focus, Mircea!" Iona called in return.

Mircea kicked Lukas square in the groin and plunged his dagger into the Norwegian's arm. Iona jumped up and added her own dagger to the equation when she slashed Lukas across the chest.

"Fine, fine! There was no spell! It was a bluff that the captain told me to use! Just have mercy on me, please!" Lukas cried, curling up into a protective ball.

"_Ta gey muckle_," Iona said in a sing-songy voice. The two crew members of _Der__ Adler_ gathered up their loot once more and scurried up the stairs, leaving the Norwegian to moan and howl in pain on the floor of the basement.

"I'm going to go find the captain and tell him that we've succeeded in our part of the mission, okay? Will you be fine going back to the ship by yourself, Mir?" Iona said.

"Yes! Be safe!" he said.

"Take care of my robe, Mircea. And thank you for the combs," the Scotswoman said. Before Mircea could say anything else, Iona was gone.

Mircea felt that he was being watched, but shook it off as being nothing. He walked back towards the entrance of the ship, not noticing the large red-brown eyes that stared at him from behind a wall.

"Mircea..." Stefan whispered.

**First Mate Iona "James" Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Finding the fight was not difficult, nor was finding Gilbert. He and his younger brother, Ludwig, were fighting off one very angry Australian man whom Iona recognised as her cousin, Jack. She slipped around to Gilbert's side.

"Mircea and I have succeeded. How long 'till the other teams are done?" she said, eyes flashing silver as she froze the Australian for a moment.

"Wonderful. The rest will be along within the next hour. Report back to the ship before you get yourself hurt or recognised," Gilbert hissed. He was clutching his side. Jack unfroze and lunged for the albino man as Iona calmly walked away. She picked her way through the chaos, walking further away from where Gilbert had told her to go, not caring if anyone saw her for her true gender. She had never actually been worried about being found out anyways. So what if the world knew who she actually was? That was Gilbert's problem. He'd been the one who'd told her to hide her identity that Christmas morning after she'd run away to join him. For all Iona cared, Arthur could jump out in front of her and acknowledge her as his sister.

Iona looked around the deck. There really weren't more than a handful of people actually clashing. Most of the members of Antonio's, Francis', and Gilbert's crews were scattered around the ship in groups, taking anything of any value. Even still, the scene on the main deck was messy. At the wheel, Francis was wrestling with a young man with vivid green eyes and messy blond hair. Iona knew immediately who it was, and felt tears stinging her eyes. She used her hood to wipe them away, effectively uncovering her face as her wild hair blew in tendrils around her in the cold night air. She must've been staring at the man for too long, because he suddenly turned and opened his mouth. She briefly made eye contact with him and mouthed the words, "Hello Arthur," before turning her back on him.

"Iona?" she heard him say right before Francis punched him in the jaw. All the Englishman saw of the ghost he was sure had been standing there was a retreating blue and silver cloak and a head of messy mahogany hair.

"What are you talking about, scone-eater? I didn't punch you that hard," Iona heard Francis taunt. She walked more quickly, as tears began welling up in her silver eyes again. She made it back to Gilbert's ship and slipped into the large nightshirt she slept in without crying, but only just barely. By the time she found Mircea, it was all she could do not to literally fall into her best friend's arms and sob for what seemed like an eternity. Instead, she slowly sunk into Mircea's hug, and let quiet tears run down her face.

"Shhh, it's okay, 'ona. I'm not sure what's going on, but everything will be okay," the Romanian whispered. Iona fell asleep curled up next to him, her face streaked with tears.

The rest of the crews returned later in various states of bloodiness and bruises, but all smiling confidently, many of them carrying large bags of their own loot. By that point, Gilbert had already found and carried Iona to her own bed after a brief explanation from Mircea, and had commanded the others to shut off the lights. The "Bad Touch Trio" of captains patched up their battered crews, lulled into a sense of security by their supposed victory.

**_The English Rose—_****March 3rd, 1890—01:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"Mister Anan, ready the cannons. We have a French ship to fire upon. Be sure not to hit the others, though."


	7. Chapter 7: Master of Tides

_**La Liberté—**_**March 3rd, 1890—01:15**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

_BOOM!_

Francis jolted awake just as Vash came scrambling into his room.

"_Merde! Qu'est-ce que dans ce putain de monde était-ce?_" Francis yelled in French.

"Sir! Kirkland's ship is firing upon us! We must evacuate immediately!" the Swiss man cried. Francis immediately started gathering up his most valuable items.

"My ship! My beautiful ship!"

"Sir, we have no time to waste! We must leave now!"

Francis gave his first mate a baleful stare until he was nearly knocked off his feet by another blast.

"Call Gilbert! He has room to spare!"

"We already have, sir! We sent out the distress call immediately upon the first blast. They've sent over their safety boats."

"Is everybody already off?"

"Yes sir! It's just us two left!"

Francis followed his first mate to a burning hole in the side of their ship where Gilbert waited for them in a floating safety boat.

"Get in! Get in! Now!" the Prussian yelled, helping the two men into the vessel. The moment they were both in safely, Gilbert sped the craft away from the ship while its captain watched sadly as his ship burned brightly in the night sky. Francis couldn't help but sob quietly. That ship had been his pride and joy, and he'd spent the past six years treating it with as much love and attention as he would a lover.

"My ship! My beautiful, beautiful ship!" he cried as they flew farther away from _La Liberté_.

"We will get you a new one, _mein Freund_. Do not worry," Gilbert yelled over the roar of the flames. He never took his eyes off of his own ship and the entirety of his crew standing on the deck. He used Iona and Mircea as a guide in the night, their eyes both shining with magic from under the shadows of their hoods as they tried to contain the inferno that was the French ship, but the continued barrage of bombs coming from Arthur's vessel proved too much for the two of them.

Gilbert docked the safety craft just in time for _La Liberté _to take one last bomb and then _**BABOOM!**_

The fire had hit the engine room, turning the ship into one giant bomb, exploding in the night sky like a miniature supernova. Francis screamed and fainted, and Gilbert ordered Berwald and Mathias to carry him off to the infirmary.

_**Der Adler—**_**01:45**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

"Everybody, back to bed! We will welcome the crew of _La Liberté _in the morning when everybody is rested. It has been a very eventful night, but we must try to keep things as normal as possible, _Sie alle verstehen?_" Gilbert ordered.

The group dispersed, stealing anxious glances at Francis' crew.

"Now then, I apologise for not being able to offer you all beds tonight, but I'm not quite sure what we have available besides some blankets and pillows. You can sleep here in the entrance area for tonight, and we will get you taken care of in the morning. If you need anything, my first mate, James, and my second mate, Mircea, will be available. Their rooms are the first two on the right down the main hallway. For now, I will leave you four. _Gute nacht_."

With that, Gilbert turned and left, nodding to Iona and Mircea.

"Watch over them, okay? I trust Francis and his crew, but still, it wouldn't hurt to be careful. Will you two be okay to stay up?"

"Absolutely, Captain! Leave it to us!" Mircea said with a wild grin. He saluted his captain and nudged the Scotswoman next to him.

"Remember, Io, you're James to them. Don't let them figure it out," Gilbert hissed.

"Aye, Gil. I've got my hood," Iona said, her words slurring, making it even more difficult to understand her accent.

"Do I need to ask Berwald to make you two coffee before he goes to bed?"

"Nae. I'll be fine. You go sleep, Gilbert. You deserve it."

Gilbert nodded and glanced around, making sure the visitors were sound asleep before leaning in and giving Iona quick kiss.

He dragged himself to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and slumping against the oaken frame.

"_Mein Gott_, what in the world are we going to do?" he thought aloud, running a tired hand through messy white hair.

After quickly undressing and locking his door, he climbed into bed, a little disappointed that his and Iona's plans had fallen through and that he would have to spend the night alone. Sleep came soon after his head hit the pillow.

_**El Corazón—**_**07:00**

**Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo**

Antonio awoke on something cold and hard, his back screaming, but his arms curled around something soft and warm. He opened one green eye and found himself face-to-face with a sleeping Italian woman with a scowl plastered on her face.

_Ay Dios Mio, I must be dreaming,_ he thought to himself. He brought the young woman closer and closed his eyes again, only to receive a swift punch to the gut.

"_Bastardo! _What the hell are you doing? Get your hands off of me! What the fuck?" Romana shrieked, making Antonio's ears ring.

"_Lo siento!_ I didn't do anything! I just woke up!" Antonio said, removing his arms and standing up. They had been curled up in a corner of his office, right underneath the window.

"What the hell were you doing with your arms around me, _bastardo_? Why did we sleep on the floor of your goddamn office?" the young woman yelled. Antonio racked his brain for an answer until the events of the night previous came rushing back to him.

_March 3rd, 01:45_

"_Romana, Feliciana! Are you two okay?" Antonio yelled, running into his office. The two Italian girls cowered in the corner, their faces illuminated by the fires burning on __La Liberté__. They cringed as another BOOM sounded, echoing throughout the night sky like thunder. Feliciana tried to comfort her sister, who was covering her ears._

"_Ve~ We're fine, Mister Antonio. What's going on?" Feliciana said quietly. She looked around nervously._

"_Captain Bonnefoy's ship has been attacked by Captain Kirkland. Francis and his crew have been evacuated to Captain Beilschmidt's ship," Antonio said, his face in shadow. _

"_Oh no! That's awful!" Feliciana cried. She might not know any of the pirates very well, but she figured that for a captain to lose his ship after such a successful raid must be a powerful blow to his pride. _

_Romana, still curled up in the corner, squealed as another bomb hit the French ship and another thunderous noise cut through the air. _

"_Feliciana, please go see if my men need food or drinks right now. That's the best way for you to help at the moment. I'll take care of your hermana," Antonio said. Feliciana nodded and scampered out the door. _

"_Shhh, Roma, it's okay. They're not firing on us. We're safe. The bombs are nowhere near us, vale?" Antonio said softly. He kneeled beside the older Italian girl and gathered her in his arms, much as he had done every time there was a storm in the past three months. Romana simply nodded, curling herself further into the Spaniard's arms. She hated that he knew she was this weak. She hated him, yet every time there was even a hint of thunder, or some other noise like it, she ran straight to him because he reminded her of her Nonno. _

_Soon enough, the two of them drifted to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms as Francis' ship burned._

"You fell asleep in my arms, Roma! You were scared by the bombs!" Antonio said with a smile. Romana turned a vivid shade of red.

"Nobody ever hears of this, you got that?" she hissed.

"Yes ma'am!"

Antonio looked out the window and saw only Gilbert's ship flying half a mile away from them. He reached for the intercom and dialed the radio room where he knew Heracles was already up and working, communicating with Gilbert's radioman, Daniel.

"Heracles, patch me through to Captain Beilschmidt, and ask him to include Captain Bonnefoy in this conversation. And have Toris bring up two cups of strong coffee to my office," the Spaniard said into the mouthpiece.

"Roma, why don't you go shower and change, then join me for some _café_? You might feel better after that," he said. Romana nodded, but not before muttering, "_Bastardo_," under her breath. Antonio smiled softly.

"Sir, are you ready for me to patch _Der Adler_ through?" came a voice over the intercom.

"Yes. I'm ready, Heracles."

_**Der Adler—**_**Twenty Minutes Later**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

"So what should we do? I don't have enough room on my ship for all five of them. I can only take about two. Do you have room, Toni?"

"I can see what I can do, _amigos_. We took on two new crew members a few months ago, and I'm not sure, but we might have given them our last free room, but I can certainly check."

"_Oh, c'est affreux! _My poor ship!" Francis cried. The French man sniffed and wiped away a tear.

"It will be okay, Francis. We'll find you a new ship, and it will be even better than your old one!" Antonio said. Gilbert glared at the speaker of the radio, hoping that Toni could feel it.

"I don't want a new ship! I just want my beautiful girl!" Francis sobbed. Gilbert gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Anyways, I will go check the situation on my ship. We should stay on our guards, all of us. Who knows what Kirkland is planning. I will radio back once I have an answer, _sí_? Until then, my friends."

The transmission ended, leaving Gilbert and Francis with static.

_**The English Rose—**_**08:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"I'd say that went swimmingly, wouldn't you, Mister Honda?" Arthur said, leaning back in his chair with his feet resting on top of his mahogany desk.

"Yes sir, Arthur-san, though we did not escape injuries of our own. Lukas-san is very weak, and your cousin, Jack, has a broken arm. Those are the two worst cases, everyone else is just bruised or has small cuts, but nothing that we cannot take care of. However, Miss Jones has not come out yet, and she's usually awake by this time," Kiku said in his soft way.

"Tell Lukas that I wish to speak to him tonight, after he's gotten some rest. I want to hear about the two individuals he fought with last night. As for Miss Jones, I'd say leave her be for now. She's probably still trying to get over all of the excitement of last night."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, and Mister Honda?"

"Yes, Arthur-san?"

"Are we prepared for our real counterattack?"

"Yes, Arthur-san."

"Good. We give them hell in seventy-two hours. Now go see what the crew needs."

The Japanese man left, and Arthur went about cleaning up his office, very glad he kept no personal effects in the room. He paused for a moment and pulled out a small photograph from the inside pocket of his jacket. A much younger version of himself smiled back at Arthur, surrounded by all five of his older siblings, as well as his parents. The picture had been taken when he was ten, and the older pair of twins were only thirteen.

_God, I miss those days_, he thought sadly.

"_There's no use living in the past, Artie-lad_," he could almost hear Alistair say in that wise tone of his.

"We needed you, Alistair, and you left us at the worst time possible," Arthur whispered, running his thumb over his eldest brother's smiling face, letting a single tear fall. He composed himself and put the photo back into his pocket.

"Can't let the crew see me or my office in such a state, not when we've got an attack to prepare for," he muttered.


	8. Chapter 8: An Téad a Cheanglaíonn Orainn

_**The English Rose—**_**March 3rd, 1890—09:30**

**Amelia F. Jones**

"Arthur! Open up!" Amelia yelled, measuring up the door to figure out how hard she would have to kick to open it.

"What is it, you silly woman?" the Englishman snapped.

"Just open the damn door! I wanna talk to you!"

Amelia heard him sigh and push back his chair. A few seconds later, the door opened.

"What do you want? And what happened to your face?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about! I got this cut last night, and Stefan said you could heal it for me. Oh, and I also got this nasty slash in my side that I'd like for you to look at, if it's not too outside of your English morals."

Arthur hesitated a moment, but looked at the cut on her forehead again as a look of guilt crossed his face.

"Alright, come in. Let's take care of that cut first, then I'll look at your side. Here, sit on the desk," Arthur said, ushering the American over to his beautiful mahogany desk. She sat on top of it and lowered her head so that Arthur could better access the wound.

"So how is it, Doc?" Amelia chuckled.

"Hold still," Arthur said sharply. Amelia looked a little wounded by his short reply, a look which did not escape Arthur's notice.

"Sorry. I just need you to hold still while I assess how bad this is," Arthur corrected with a softer tone. Amelia winced as he lightly touched the small cut on her head, but immediately relaxed as she felt the pain ebb away.

"There we go. All healed. Now, lie down on the couch over there, and..."

"And what?"

Arthur turned a brilliant shade of red.

_I'm pretty sure he's seen me in nothing but my underwear in the six months I've been on this ship, yet he's blushing at the thought of me uncovering just my side? I don't get this guy, but he's kinda a prude. It's a little cute_, the American woman thought to herself. She went over and reclined on the red velvet couch, pulling up her shirt just enough for Arthur to see the wicked-looking wound on her midsection.

"Good God, woman! How the bloody hell are you still alive?" Arthur exclaimed.

"Uhhh... I'm really not sure. I think it's 'cause I'm the hero, and the hero has to withstand injuries that would kill a normal person!" Amelia said.

"Excuse me? Come again?" Arthur said, looking at her in disbelief.

"I'm the hero!" Amelia yelled, pumping a fist in the air, nearly hitting Arthur in the nose. The Englishman let out an exasperated noise and bent down to look at the slash, which spanned from one side of her torso to the other. Arthur looked worried.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Amelia asked, a hint of fear creeping into her voice.

"I'm afraid this is out of my league, Miss Jones. I can't heal it, or at least, not by myself, and Lukas is too weak right now to be of much help. The most I can do is stitch it up and keep an eye on it. You should thank the good Lord that you're even still alive. Stay here while I go get a medical kit."

Amelia stared up at the ceiling, listening to Arthur's retreating steps, then listening as they came back.

"Okay, this may sting a little, but just bear with me," Arthur said reassuringly. Amelia nodded, but was not prepared for the feeling of the needle piercing the already tender skin around the wound in her abdomen. A small squeak escaped, and she had to bite her lip to stem the tears pricking her eyes.

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Can I hold your hand while you do this?"

"I would say yes, but I need both hands for this. You can hold onto my leg, if that would help you."

Amelia gave another small nod, and placed a hand right above Arthur's knee. She would occasionally dig her nails into his skin through the fabric of his trousers, and the actions were usually accompanied by a hiss or squeal or some other pained noise. When she wasn't focused on the pain, Amelia became very aware of the fact that Arthur was bent very low, and his face was very close to her skin. The young woman felt her heart leap and race a little, especially when, a few times, his lips actually brushed across her stomach in his efforts to be as precise as possible. The American woman occupied herself with trying to memorise Arthur's face, spending more than a few minutes trying to figure out a good way to describe the colour of his eyes, or come up with what he would look like without those eyebrows of his. She decided that he would look bad without them.

_Is it bad that I want to know what it'd be like to kiss him? He'd probably yell at me. Hell, he'd probably throw me off this ship and feed me to the Russians. I wouldn't last a second, not if the stories I've heard are true. I really hope we never run into them, especially not their top general. What was that guy's name again? Ignatious? Ian? Oh, right, Ivan. General Ivan Braginsky. What was I thinking about? I wonder if Arthur's a good kisser. Should I try to find out? Probably not while he's sewing me back together_, Amelia thought during one such moment when the pain ebbed a little. She decided that she did **not **enjoy getting stitches.

Arthur had her turn on her side so that he could continue stitching up the wound.

After a few more minutes, Arthur finally tied off the thread and leaned back, admiring his handiwork.

"Well? What's the deal, Captain Doctor? Am I on bed rest? Will you be my nurse?" Amelia said, wiggling her eyebrows jokingly. Arthur didn't seem to be fazed by her humour.

"I'd like to keep an eye on that, if you don't mind. You're free to roam the ship as usual, but please go easy on yourself. Don't go too wild, Miss Jones," Arthur said.

"Define 'wild.'"

"You know what I meant, you silly girl."

Amelia stuck out her bottom lip.

"You don't have to be mean, Arthur," she said, grabbing the back of the couch to help her sit up.

"I wouldn't do that," Arthur warned, but Amelia ignored him.

She shrieked in pain and fell back, golden hair splaying around her head like a halo on the couch.

"I told you. You should stay here for a little while."

"Only if you stay as well. I'd feel weird sitting in your office alone."

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

Arthur smiled and pulled a nearby chair over.

_She's actually somewhat attractive when she doesn't run her mouth so much_, Arthur mused. It was a thought that crossed his mind often. His eyes glanced over the American woman's form, noting every curve and plane of her body. He felt entirely too hot, as though even looking at her sent flames running through him. She was vulnerable and at his mercy, and hell, he was the bloody captain.

"_Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland, behave!" a familiar female's voice rang in his head. _Suddenly, he was thirteen again, and his elder sister had just caught him in the process of undressing a local merchant's daughter.

"_I thought Mother and I taught you better! Just because Mum and Dad are off in Paris does not mean you get to behave like some common street rat! You should thank God that I was the one who barged in on you, and not Alistair! Now, you will help this nice young lady back into all of her clothing without so much as a single lewd glance, and then you will apologise to her, and then, you will escort her to the door. I will make sure she arrives home safely. Are we at an understanding?" Iona said, her grey eyes flashing dangerously. _

"_Yes, Iona," thirteen-year old Arthur mumbled. He hated his sister sometimes, especially when their parents were out of town and the older set of twins was in charge. _

"Hey, Arthur? You alright there, buddy?" Amelia said, waving a hand in front of Arthur's face. He snapped out of his reverie.

"What? Oh, sorry. Caught up in a memory," he said.

"Of what?"

Arthur looked away, unsure of if he should tell the American woman anything about his past, let alone anything about his family.

"My sister," he finally said coldly. Amelia's face contorted into a mask of physical pain, but Arthur could also see that his tone had hurt her.

"Tell me about it," Amelia demanded, losing the mask of pain and replacing it with a mask of determination. Arthur felt his face flush again, this time taken aback by her tone.

"Excuse me?" Arthur said incredulously.

"Tell me about the memory! I've been on your ship for months, and I'm still not sure if you're actually human!" Amelia exclaimed with a snort, as though Arthur's surprise was completely unfounded.

"It's nothing. Just a silly memory."

"Don't care. I wanna know what made you into the volatile little man you are today," Amelia said, sticking her tongue out at him, only to wince in pain.

Arthur glared at her, wondering if he should just go ahead and appease the young woman.

"Ugh, fine. I was just remembering the time my sister walked in on me undressing one of the local girls while my parents were on holiday. My sister, usually a fairly gentle person, looked like she was going to murder me. I was only thirteen, so I didn't quite yet understand why my actions were so bad. All I wanted to do was fuck the girl and satisfy my more...animal urges, but my sister, who was sixteen, nearly seventeen at the time, gave me such a royal chewing out that my ears were ringing for days," Arthur said before he could stop himself. It had been much too long since he'd shared any of his memories with anyone.

"She sounds like an incredible person."

"She wasn't," Arthur spat. Amelia looked at him in surprise, and Arthur realised that he would have to explain himself.

"She'd be the first to tell you that. My brothers and I hated her sometimes. There were just some times when she took her responsibilities a bit too seriously. She basically raised me and my four brothers, including Alistair, who was her twin. My parents were always off on holiday or busy with important meetings, so my older siblings shouldered the burden of making sure I turned out alright," Arthur laughed. He gave Amelia a genuine smile, feeling a sense of happiness about getting memories of his past life off of his chest.

"You don't talk about her much. I mean, you don't talk about any of your siblings very much, but I think I've only heard you mention her once. What happened?"

Arthur's face immediately fell.

"She abandoned us. The last time I saw her was Christmas Eve, five years ago. Life finally seemed to be looking up for all of us, and she went and she left us without so much as an explanation or anything except a note that read, 'En Ma Fin Est Mon Commencement,'" he growled.

"That's awful, Arthur. I'm so sorry. It must've really affected you," Amelia gasped.

"Well, that, coupled with the death of my parents six months earlier, and Alistair's death ten days before she ran away. I still don't know why she did it, nor why she chose Christmas morning of all times to do so. I still have that note. The message was the same one on Alistair's tombstone. The six of us always used it as a code for when we were leaving the house for a prolonged period of time, since we all attended different boarding schools. Again, she wasn't incredible. She was—is— human like the rest of us, and I absolutely hate her," Arthur said, looking at a point on the couch beyond Amelia's head.

Amelia reached up and tried to pat him on the shoulder, but let out a small squeak and let her arm flop back down.

"What's her name?" Amelia said quietly.

"Iona," Arthur replied. Silence hung about them for a bit.

"How did Alistair die?" Amelia asked suddenly.

Arthur looked down at the ground, his smile erased from his face. While he was actually enjoying sharing pieces of his life with Amelia, he wasn't quite willing to go that far, and he hoped that his body language conveyed as much.

"I think that's enough of my life story for right now. What I want to know, and what I've been meaning to ask you for three months now is, how the hell did you end up raiding my family home? And how did you know whose home it was?" Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I wanted to prove that I was worth the military's time, so I decided to search the home of the Sky Privateer Arthur Mackenzie-Kirkland—your home—because I knew that the US military would be impressed," Amelia grinned proudly.

"Come again?" Arthur wasn't entirely sure how to take her explanation.

"I wanted to join the Air Force, but they wouldn't let me, so I was going to ransack your home and gather intelligence on you to give to the higher ups. I walked in the door, started looking around the kitchen, and that's when you and your thugs attacked," Amelia said.

"You just randomly decided you were going to join the military?" Part of him didn't doubt her story, while the other part wondered at how she hadn't already been sent to an asylum for all of her grand ideas.

"Well, I trained for years, taught myself how to shoot various guns and do close combat and all that shit, but they refused to even consider me because I was a woman." Amelia chewed on her lip, looking up at Arthur searchingly.

"You really wanted to join, didn't you? What made you decide to do that?" the Englishman finally said with a slight smile.

"My father was a military man, and he was my role model growing up. My mom was very quiet and I didn't see her very much because she was always ill. To me, it was natural to want to go join the military, so I taught myself everything I needed to know," Amelia replied with a very small shrug. She looked almost…relieved at Arthur's smile.

"Once you're all healed, remind me to see how good you are with a gun. I might consider allowing you to actually fight," Arthur said in his captain's voice.

"I'll hold you to it," Amelia said, attempting to punch him on the arm playfully. Arthur just shook his head at her antics, finding that she was somewhat endearing at the moment.

"Anyways, I should probably check on the rest of the crew, and possibly go get myself a cuppa. You should try to get some rest, even if it does feel 'weird' being in here alone."

Amelia nodded and then shivered slightly.

"Are you cold, Miss Jones?"

"A little. This ship can be kinda drafty," Amelia said softly.

Wordlessly, Arthur removed his jacket and laid it across the American.

"Sleep well, Amelia," Arthur said. He turned off the lights and shut the door quietly, leaving Amelia to drift off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9: Parsley, Sage

_**Der Adler—**_**March 4th, 1890—12:00**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

Gilbert watched the landscape below them as they flew over the German countryside, feeling a sense of peace at being in familiar air. His brows knit together as they passed a large airbase swarming with activity.

"_Verdammt_," he swore under his breath at the sight. He'd been hearing more and more reports of the Russians encroaching on Germany's neighbours, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The base teeming with soldiers and pilots and other personnel reminded him of the growing threat, and made his blood boil at how the other European countries were doing nothing to stop the Commies.

A knock on the door broke him from his daze.

"Come in!" he called, not bothering to take his eyes off of the scene below his window.

"Thought you might like a drink, Gil," Iona said, placing a large glass on the desk. Gilbert turned to face her.

She looked tired, worn thin by the added five members they were taking care of.

"Please, Io, sit. You need to," Gilbert said, sounding much more forceful than he meant to.

"Nae. I have to get back to tending to Francis' first mate. The Swiss man looks like a piece of Swiss cheese with all of the cuts and holes he has in him. Have you and Antonio decided how you're going to split up Francis and his men? We can't keep feeding all five of them, plus all six of us, nor can we keep doing this whole 'bed rotation' shite."

"We'll figure something out soon, Iona. I promise."

Iona nodded, and turned to leave.

"Wait," Gilbert said, looking at her with hopeful eyes. In the past, this look would earn him at least thirty minutes of Iona's time, plenty for what he had in mind. Now, however, she just shook her head.

"I really can't. I just wanted to give that to you. I'll come by later, though, if I'm free."

With that, she was gone.

"Iona..._Mein Gott_, what has happened to us?"

He'd claimed her as his the moment she agreed to be his first mate, and that cold Christmas night had been the best of his young life. He'd gotten away with stealing a ship and managed to bed his childhood crush, all in one day. She was his secret, and he kept her very close to his chest, but recently, it felt like she'd been drawing away, and doing more and more to escape his hold. The past two months, especially, had begun to feel horribly distant to the Prussian. She seemed to jump at any opportunity to drop the charade of being male, and more than once, Gilbert had caught her roaming the hallways wearing a dress. Ever since he and the other two captains had started planning to attack Arthur Kirkland, Iona had made her visits with Gilbert fewer and farther between, keeping them much more professional and much less personal. After five years of being together, he could feel the relationship unraveling, down to nothing more than a captain and his first mate.

_It's all your fault, dummkopf. You've been the one forcing her to parade around as a guy, just so you can keep her all to yourself. And then, you go and top it all off by attacking her little brother, just to prove a point to her? Just to prove to her that you're more worth her attention than her guilt over her family, you went and suggested to the other two that you should beat Kirkland within an inch of his life. Gott, you're a fool. That stupid Romanian kid has a better relationship with your girlfriend than you do, Gilbert. You're just as bad as Francis, _he fumed.

**14:00**

**First Mate Iona "James" Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"I'm afraid there's not much more I can do for now. I've healed up as many of his wounds as I could, but he's still in very serious condition, and getting weaker by the moment. I'm almost amazed that he's held on as long as he has. I really think we should land and take him to a hospital," Iona said, looking concerned. Her eyes were covered by a cap, knowing that Francis would recognise her otherwise. They stood by Vash's bedside, examining the pale Swiss man.

"We cannot afford to do that, James. Toni, Gilbert, and I are wanted men. If we were to land anywhere, we'd all be executed on sight for piracy, _mon ami_. There must be something else you can do," Francis said, his expression begging her to miraculously cure Vash.

"There isn't. If there was, I would've tried it already, Mister Bonnefoy. If we want to have even a small shard of hope for your mate here, we must take him to a hospital, or something. My magic alone isn't strong enough to heal him entirely, and Mircea's used too much energy already today. We're stretched thin," the Scotswoman said. A glance over at Mircea confirmed her statement; he looked pale, and had dark circles under his burgundy eyes. Iona almost worried that he was going to pass out from exhaustion then and there.

Francis slumped down into a nearby chair and buried his face in his hands.

"_Mon Dieu_," he groaned, "we are being tested."

Iona placed a comforting hand on the Frenchman's shoulder before turning towards the door.

"We'll take our leave for now, and you should most likely do the same. One of our men will watch over him so that if he wakes up, there will be someone to come find me and Mircea. In the meantime, I suggest you speak with Captain Beilschmidt. You need to make a decision soon," she said. Francis nodded in understanding as Iona and Mircea left.

Once they were out of the makeshift infirmary, Mircea yawned loudly, stretching his arms high above his head.

"I don't know about you, but I could sleep for the rest of the month!" he announced with a tired grin. Iona smiled slightly at her friend.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Mir. All I want to do right now is curl up on the top deck and nap."

"Well, then, why don't we? It's a nice enough day, and everybody else is busy doing their own things."

Iona thought for a moment, considering Mircea's suggestion. She'd promised Gilbert that she'd see him if she had any free time, but really, her heart wasn't in it, and honestly hadn't been for as long as she'd been his girlfriend. Gilbert had been an anchor, an excuse for her to escape, and she had fooled herself into thinking that she felt the same way for Gilbert for the past five years, but recently had reached the point where she couldn't continue lying to herself. She had always known that Gilbert had an impulsive, somewhat jealous side to him. It came along with his inflated ego, and it had always been somewhat endearing, but never endearing enough that she saw him in that light. Now, it was just beginning to scare her a little, especially since she knew it had been the driving force behind the attack on Arthur's ship. She loved Gilbert, she really, truly did, but she didn't love him the same way he loved her. He was a good friend, but nothing more than that. Iona had already begun planning out what she was going to say when she finally did get up enough courage to break things off with the Prussian.

"Hello-o-o, Iona?" Mircea said, snapping Iona out of her thoughts. The Romanian man waved a gloved hand in front of her face.

"Sorry, I was thinking," she said, pushing his hand away from her before he accidentally hit her.

"So? Do you want to go hang out on the top deck?" Mircea asked with a fanged smile.

"Mmmm... Sure, why not? I'll go grab a blanket and some pillows from my room," Iona replied.

"Okay! Meet you up there in ten!"

Before Iona could say anything else, Mircea was halfway down the hall, spurred on by a second wind of energy, which she knew wouldn't last very long.

**14:45**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

"_Ai de gând să Scarborough Fair?_" Mircea sang, trying to fit the words of his language into the tune of the folk song with a fair bit of success, though the song still felt off. He heard someone come up the stairs and drop some items on the deck, but chose to continue watching the German countryside fly by them.

"I don't think 'Scarborough Fair' was meant to be sung in Romanian, Mircea. You might just want to give up on that endeavour," Iona laughed from behind him. Mircea spun around and lit up with a smile as he was greeted with the sight of his best friend wearing a dress. He quickly replaced the idiotic grin with a smirk.

"Well, what do you suggest I do instead?" he countered. The redhead walked over to join him beside the railing.

"I think you should sing it in English. It's prettier like that, anyway."

"Is that so?"

"Aye, it is."

Mircea thought for a moment.

"Then sing it for me," he taunted. Iona's grey eyes sparkled mischievously, and Mircea knew she'd taken the bait.

"_Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to one who lives there. He once was a true love of mine_," the Scotswoman sang. She paused, and Mircea knew that was his signal to actually start the song since it began with the stanzas traditionally sung by the male partner. Once his part had finished, Iona picked up, singing the woman's responses to her lover's requests. Finally, they both repeated, "_Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Remember me to one who lives there. She [He] once was a true love of mine_."

They sat in silence for a few moments while Mircea pondered the meaning of the song before ultimately giving up.

"What does it mean?" he asked, helping Iona spread out her comforter on the deck.

"Come again?" the redhead laughed.

"What's the song about?" Mircea clarified, plopping down a pillow at one end of the blanket. Iona chuckled, doing the same, and looked up at the sky.

"Well, the way Mum always explained it to me, it's about the impossible things we do for love. When was the last time you ever saw someone make a shirt without any seams or needlework?"

"Umm...never. I don't think that's possible."

"Exactly. So, when the guy asks his lover to make him a 'cambric shirt without the seams or needlework,' he's asking her to do the impossible for love. Same goes for the girl and her requests. Think about it: if you had a 'true love,' wouldn't you go to the ends of the earth for them, even when what they asked of you was basically impossible?" Iona said. She was smiling broadly at him, and Mircea felt his heart race a little.

The two of them sat down on their makeshift nest as Mircea continued to think about what Iona had said. While he was lost in thought, he felt Iona lie down next to him.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me just yet!" he said, poking his companion.

"But I'm tired," Iona groaned. Mircea looked over at her, smiling.

"Doesn't matter. You're not allowed to go to sleep until I say you are!" Mircea teased, taking a strand of mahogany hair in his hand as he bent down until he was inches from her face.

"Weren't you about to fall asleep on your feet twenty minutes ago?" Iona said.

"Yeah, but now I feel awake! Come on! It's been forever since we got to just hang out! Tell me a story or something!" the Romanian whined, tugging on the piece of hair. Iona sighed and opened her eyes, bringing her face a little closer to his.

"And what do I get in return?" she said with a smirk, but Mircea wasn't focusing on her words anymore. Instead, he became hyperaware of her proximity and the faint smell of Argan oil. He noticed how her grey eyes had flecks of light green around the pupils, and how her eyebrows, unlike her brother's, were thin and nicely shaped. He especially noticed just how close her lips were to his.

_No, Mircea, stop this. She's not yours. Stand down, you **prost**,_ he mentally scolded.

"How about my eternal friendship?" he finally replied, sitting back up.

"I thought I already had that."

"You do, but it doesn't hurt to reinforce it!"

"What sort of story?"

"I don't know! Something good!"

"I'll make you a deal: Today, we sleep. The next time we have a chance like this, I'll tell you a story. Sound good?" Iona said, just as Mircea gave an especially large yawn. All of his energy from moments before was gone, and suddenly, the pillow next to Iona's looked very inviting.

"Fine. But you have to promise," he said. Iona smiled and nodded.

"Aye, I promise," she replied softly.

"Good," Mircea said, laying down next to her.

A cold wind blew, and Mircea saw Iona shiver a little. He scooted closer to her, and tentatively put an arm around her waist. The redhead rolled over so that she was flush against him, and once both of them had gotten comfortable, Mircea closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

"_Mircea?" a small voice said through the darkness._

Mircea found himself back in Bucharest in the old, broken-down house he had once called home.

"_What is it, Stefan? What's wrong?" he replied._

"_Can I come sleep with you?" his brother asked._

"_Of course, frate, but why?"_

"_It's cold and scary in here," the little boy squeaked. Mircea heard the sound of his two year old half-brother throwing off his thin blankets, and saw the little boy pad across the dark room over to where he slept. The child snuggled up against him, falling back asleep almost instantly. _

"_Don't worry, Stefan. I'm here," he whispered into his brother's wild mop of hair. _

**16:00**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

Gilbert walked up to the top deck, hoping to escape the crush of humanity that was now his ship. Instead, he was greeted by a sight that made his heart fall through the floor. Iona was curled up in Mircea's arms, wearing a dress and a pair of diamond studded hair combs, and looking happier and more at peace than she had in years.

"_Gilbert, du Idiot. Das ist deine Schuld_," he hissed, going back down the stairs.

* * *

**As one extra note, Gilbert's line at the very end translates to: "Gilbert, you idiot. This is your fault"**

**Para Siempre,**

**La Reina Escocia**

** www. youtube watch?v=lm8mhqt_Dag**

**and **

** en. wikipedia wiki/ Scarborough_Fair_(ballad)**


	10. Chapter 10: Una Sera nel Cielo

_**The Corazón—**_**March**** 4th, 1890—18:45**

**Feliciana Vargas**

"_Ve, _Mister Toris, where do you come from?" Feliciana asked as she stirred a pot of vegetable soup.

"Who, me?" the man said, pointing to himself.

"Of course! Nobody else is down here!" the girl said, flashing a bright smile. Toris blushed and put down his knife, wiping his hands on the apron he wore.

"Well, I come from Lithuan—"

"I know that! Tell me about your city! Are there lots of cute boys? How'd you end up on this smelly ship? Was your city really bad or something?"

"Oh! I come from the capital city, Vilnius! It's a nice place, and the people are all very kind. We have lots of history, and our culture is very interesting, too. I can tell you lots of stories, like the one about the wolf and—"

Toris continued to babble, but after a while, Feliciana tuned him out, deciding that since he made no mention of the attractiveness of his people, nor did he talk about food, she wasn't particularly interested.

"I'm going to let the soup simmer for a little bit, okay? I think I'll go see what everybody else is up to. _Ve~ _Maybe _sorella_ is free to play!" Feliciana said. Toris, who had finished rambling about his home by that point, nodded and went back to chopping up pieces of meat.

Feliciana removed her apron, hanging it on a nearby peg, which Viktor swore upside-down and backwards was the leg of a pirate captain they'd vanquished in the first few months of Antonio's captaincy, and skipped out of the galley and up the stairs.

She poked her head inside the door of the room she shared with Romana, but found it empty. The Italian girl shrugged.

"I guess she's still with Captain Toni. I'm glad that they're getting along now!" she said. She continued to skip merrily down the halls, humming as she went. Finally, she came to the bridge, just in time for Ludwig to open the door and step out. Feliciana slammed into him with a yelp before falling to the ground.

"Oh! Ludwig! I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Please forgive me!" she cried, working herself up into a flurry of emotions. Ludwig looked at her with what she had learned was his expression of surprise.

"I'm fine, Feliciana, but I'm wondering if you are," the German man replied, offering the young woman a hand. She took it daintily and he pulled her up.

"What have you been up to today, Ludwig?" Feliciana asked, looking at him with large amber eyes.

"Hmph. Not much. I've been helping Abel since he is still recovering. We're waiting for orders from Captain Carriedo about taking on some of Bonnefoy's crew, but otherwise, we're just coasting for now. I was on my way to my quarters to prepare for dinner," Ludwig said, regaining his stoic composure.

"You look perfectly fine to me! What do you have to do to prepare for dinner?" Feliciana chirped, taking hold of one of Ludwig's arms. He turned red, but said nothing.

"Well, I, uh, I just like to have some time to myself before eating," he stammered after a few seconds of pained silence, making Feliciana giggle.

"Can I join you?" she said pleadingly. Ludwig blushed even darker as the girl tightened her grip on his arm.

"How about, instead, we just go to the observation room, _ja_? The sun should be setting soon, and I'm sure it's a lovely view," Ludwig said with an awkward smile.

Feliciana's face lit up, and she practically dragged Ludwig down the stairs to the lowest level of the ship.

The entire room was a giant window, offering a complete panoramic view of the German countryside. Feliciana found herself spending the better part of her days curled up in the middle of the room with a blanket and some pillows, watching the landscape fly by, and letting her imagination go wherever it wished.

She danced around, laughing and smiling while Ludwig simply stood in the doorway and watched, looking awkward and out of place, as though he had no idea what to do with the young Italian woman.

"_Ve~ _It's so beautiful, Ludwig! Don't you just love it in here?" Feliciana said. Ludwig nodded, and gave a grunt of affirmation. She stopped twirling and ran over to one of the walls, occasionally pressing her face to the glass when she wasn't moving about the room. She sang in Italian for a few minutes, and every time she turned to face her companion, she was smiling widely.

Suddenly, she stopped singing and froze. Ludwig walked over, stopping a few feet behind her, curious as to why she had stopped her song.

"_Was ist es_?" he said, more to himself than to the girl, trying to figure out what she was looking at.

"There are soldiers down there! Big, scary ones!"

Ludwig looked at her in exasperation.

"They're probably just German troops doing some exercises. It's really not a big deal," he said, waving her off. Suddenly, Feliciana turned, closed the gap between them, and buried her face in his chest, her arms automatically going around his midsection like a vice. Ludwig stiffened, alarmed at her sudden hug, and completely unsure of what to do.

"No, no, no! I don't think those are Germans! I've seen German troops before, and those men down there are not German! Plus, why would they be setting fire to their own homeland?" she cried into his shirt.

"What?" he yelled. Feliciana extricated herself from him, and pointed to the soldiers, which Ludwig could now clearly see. She was right: those men were most definitely not German.

"_Scheiße_," he swore under his breath.

"Ludwig, they're scary," Feliciana cried, shivering and returning to his arms. Ludwig stood there, stunned, and unconsciously returned Feliciana's hug.

"_Ja_," he whispered, "they're terrible."

**19:20**

**Romana Vargas**

Romana had to admit, spending the past two days shadowing the Spanish bastard really had been almost...fun. Once she had cleaned herself up and gotten strong Spanish coffee in her system, Antonio had shown her around the ship, teaching her how to check all of the various gauges that kept them afloat, and how to read both a digital map as well as traditional one, taught her how to steer the ship, and even let her sit in on his and Ludwig's conversation with the other two captains. After three months on this damned ship, she was finally being accepted as part of the crew.

She was loathe to say as much, but she really had enjoyed her time, despite the fact that she was surrounded by filthy pirates. Antonio reminded her of a child, obnoxious but sweet...though mainly obnoxious.

"Romana! Your face is all red again! What's got you blushing, _mi pequeña tomate_?" Antonio asked as they walked down towards the galley for dinner.

"I told you, _bastardo_, that if you called me that one more time, I would castrate you as slowly and painfully as possible. And I'm not blushing! This ship is just really warm!" Romana yelled, punching him on the arm.

"Ow! Roma! That hurt!" the Spaniard whined, rubbing his arm.

"You deserved it, idiot," she mumbled. They made their way into the bustling galley where Toris was setting out plates and bowls for everyone while Viktor and Heracles sat at the table and argued about the Greek economy and its overall effect on the broader European economy. Ludwig sat with a dull look on his face, and Feliciana chattered away about the beautiful sunset. Nearby, Abel puffed away on his pipe, waiting for the meal to be served.

"_Kapitane!_ There you are! We were beginning to worry about you—ah! Miss Vargas! I didn't see you there!" Viktor called, waving the two of them over.

"_Lo siento, _Viktor! I was just showing Roma my maps! How is everybody?" Antonio said jovially, taking Romana's hand and tugging her over to the table.

"Can't complain. Any word from Beilschmidt and Bonnefoy?" Heracles said quietly.

Antonio's face immediately went stony.

"I was going to tell everyone this during dinner, but we're landing in Berlin the day after tomorrow. Francis' first mate is very badly injured, and needs medical attention _inmediatamente_, so they're sending a landing party ahead tomorrow, and the rest of us will follow the next day," he said to the now quiet room.

"You're kidding me, right? The German authorities will string us up before we can even step off of the ships," Abel growled.

"Sadly, my friends, no, I'm not kidding. Gilbert is sending his first mate, James, along with his navigator, Mathias. They won't be recognised by the authorities and will be able to get him into the hospital quickly and safely. We'll wait for their signal, and then find a place to stay. We attacked Kirkland's ship together, and we'll stand together until all of us are stable," Antonio said.

Even though Romana already knew about this, she felt a pit in her stomach over the idea. One glance over at Ludwig confirmed that he too felt some unease, having been there for the planning of the mission.

"I need one of you to join the delegation, to ensure that they have another layer of protection. James will contact us later tonight with the cover story, but someone needs to go with them," Antonio continued.

The group continued to sit in cold silence, pondering Antonio's words, and Romana fidgeted with her dress.

"I'll go, Captain," Viktor said solemnly.

"_Gracias, amigo,_" Antonio said.

"Mister Antonio, are we going to eat soon? I'm hungry!" Feliciana interjected, earning a facepalm from her sister.

_I love my sister, but she really is so oblivious sometimes. It's a wonder her head doesn't just float away,_ Romana thought to herself. Antonio took her hand and seated her next to him as Toris ladled soup into her bowl and dropped a piece of meat onto her plate.

"Just in time, Feliciana! Let's eat!" Antonio laughed, breaking the tension in the room. Dinner passed in silence as the ravenous crew thought about Antonio's news, and enjoyed the combined culinary talents of Toris and Feliciana. Afterwards, everybody drifted off towards their rooms, while Viktor, Romana, and Antonio adjourned to the captain's office to make contact with Gilbert.

After one very long hour of planning, they signed off, and Viktor went to the quarters he shared with Heracles, escorted by Romana after Antonio told him he 'needed a woman's help with packing.' There, he gathered a small bag with things he would need for his stay in Berlin, pausing only momentarily to look at a picture of a younger version of him standing arm-in-arm with a red-eyed youth with strawberry blond hair. At their feet sat a smaller boy with deep brown hair sticking out erratically, two small tufts of hair poking out the sides of his head.

_**The English Rose—23:30**_

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

Arthur yawned, taking off his shirt as quietly as possible, trying his best not to disturb the American woman sleeping on the other side of his bed, curled up in a nightgown he had procured for her. His body was exhausted simply from being a captain, and he still hadn't had much chance to speak with Lukas about his attackers, but his mind was wide awake, planning for his next move in two days' time. He downed the sleeping draught he'd prepared earlier in the day, shut off the lights, wrapped his arms around Amelia, and quickly drifted off to sleep, his dreams haunted by a pair of green-grey eyes and a blue and silver cloak.


	11. Chapter 11: Funny How Some Distance

**_El Corazón—_March 5th, 1890—06:00**

**Engineer Viktor Aleksandrov**

"Remember the cover story, Viktor. A man's life depends on it," Antonio warned as he walked the engineer to the airlock where Gilbert's team was waiting on one of the safety boats for him.

"Yes sir," Viktor nodded.

"James, the Scottish man, will be the leader of this. Anything he tells you, you listen. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

Antonio punched a few buttons, and the door to the airlock opened, revealing a small craft with white sails. Standing next to it were two individuals wearing heavy woolen cloaks, though only one of them had their hood up.

"So you're Viktor, huh? I kinda expected you to be a bit...cooler," the man without his hood said. Viktor found himself at a loss for words.

"Pleasure to meet you, too," he finally stammered. The hooded man nodded.

"You gonna be okay without your engineer for a day, Antonio? Wouldn't want all hell to break loose," the man without the hood said.

"_Sí! _We'll be fine! Just get _Señor Zwingli_ to a hospital! We'll see you in a day! Now go!" Antonio said.

"Captain Carriedo is right, Mathias. We have to get going, now," the hooded man, whom Viktor assumed to be James, said with a nod. Viktor saluted Antonio and followed the other two onto the small vessel. Lying on a small pallet in the centre of the boat was a very pale man with shoulder-length blond hair and vicious-looking cuts all over his face and arms.

"Take care, you guys! _Adios!_"

The airlock opened, Mathias started the engine of the craft, and before Viktor knew it, they were in the open air, _El Corazón_ rapidly fading from view.

After a few minutes, James stretched, and removed his hood, earning a gasp from Viktor.

Rather than a large, burly Scotsman as he had expected, Viktor found himself face-to-face with a young woman, her mahogany hair held back from her face by a pair of combs. She had cat-like grey eyes, and wore an even more cat-like grin.

"W-who are you? Where's James?" Viktor stuttered.

"Aye...about that. There never was a 'James' so to speak. It's a long and drawn out story, and I've already had to share it once today, but all you need to know is that I am still leader of this team. Understood?" the woman said in a strong Scottish accent.

Viktor nodded, before adding, "Okay, so what do I call you?"

"Normally, I'd say Iona, but for today's purposes, call me Margaret. The story still stands, we are siblings who have recently been attacked by Russian Federation ships, and our brother, Winston, has been wounded badly, but instead of being a band of brothers, you now have a sister. You will let me do most of the talking, lest your accent gives us away, and only speak when directly asked a question. Do you remember the name I gave you?"

"Yes, I do. I am Charlie Macdonald, I am twenty years of age, and I have been working as a missionary in Bulgaria for the past year," Viktor said confidently. The more he spoke with the Scotswoman, the less she made him nervous, and he hoped he conveyed that.

"Good. We'll be landing in about two hours, so make yourself comfortable."

They sat in silence, taking in the scenery afforded them by the open air.

"So...you're from Bulgaria, huh? Isn't that down near Romania?" Mathias said from his reclined position against the side of the boat.

"_Да!_ How'd you guess?" Viktor grinned. He didn't think his accent was that horribly pronounced.

"Captain Beilschmidt told us, plus our second mate is Romanian and gave us a nice imitation of the Bulgarian accent. I'm surprised you didn't meet him during the raid," Mathias laughed, clapping Viktor on the back. Iona smirked, and Viktor assumed that she was thinking of their friend's imitation.

"So...Mathias," Viktor began after a few seconds, keeping his voice quiet enough so that only Mathias could hear.

"_Ja_?" Mathias answered, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Did you always know about your...er...about Iona?"

Mathias burst out laughing wildly.

"What? What's so funny?" Viktor said defensively. He scowled.

"Your face! You looked so scared of asking that! Pffft! What're you so scared of? It's a fine question to ask!" Mathias cackled, earning a slap behind the head from Iona.

"Well, did you?"

"Nope! Learned this morning when she came down into the galley wearing a dress and her hair all curly and shit. Almost choked on my coffee, 'specially when she started talking!"

Viktor looked at the Dane incredulously, then spared a glance at Iona, who had returned to wiping Vash's head with a towel.

"How long have you been part of the crew?" Viktor said.

"Four years as of this past January!" Mathias said proudly.

"A-nd how long has she been first mate?"

"Five years and three months," Iona called. Viktor just stared at the two of them.

"Does anyone else find that weird?" he mumbled.

Mathias sat and thought about the Bulgarian's words.

"Yeah, it is a bit odd, and thinking back, we probably should've seen it coming, but when you're dealing with a sorceress and an overprotective ex-boyfriend who's also captain of the ship, you start to see how you could've missed it," the Dane finally said, earning an even more confused look from Viktor.

_These people are absolutely нечестив Бати_, Viktor thought to himself.

"What'd you just call us, Mister Aleksandrov?" Iona purred. Viktor blanched.

"W-what?"

"You were thinking that we're absolutely something, but I'm afraid I don't speak Bulgarian," she explained, brushing some of Vash's hair back from his face. The man was pale, and even in his sleep, wore a scowl.

"Oh, come on, James! Don't go reading other people's minds just to show off!" Mathias said with a cheesy grin. Iona looked pleased with herself.

"I was bored, Mat. Gimme a break," she said, "and my name's Iona, not James. You've got the wrong Mackenzie-Kirkland's middle name."

"Remember what Mir told you about doing that? It's dangerous to be doing it for shits and grins."

"I'm aware, Mathias, but I like to know who I'm dealing with."

Viktor tuned the pair out, choosing instead to focus on the cool air and the cloudy sky. Before long, he drifted off to sleep, curled up against the side of the craft.

"_Viktor! Wait up!" a young man with shaggy strawberry blonde hair yelled._

_Viktor stopped walking long enough for the youth to catch up, giving his friend a sly grin._

"_You know, Mircea, we would've been at the aerodrome sooner if you weren't so slow," he said. _

_"I know, I know, but there were some really cool trinkets back there, and I just had to look at them!" Mircea whined, pouting a little. Viktor rolled his eyes._

_"We can look at trinkets later. I heard that Antonio Carriedo is looking for men to join his crew!" Viktor huffed._

_It was now Mircea's turn to stop dead in his tracks, staring at Viktor with a look of shock and horror._

_"Wait...Is that why you want to go to the aerodrome today?" Mircea gasped._

_"Why else would I drag you down to go to see a bunch of ships?" Viktor said, as though Mircea's question had been just another of his stupid inquiries. _

_"Vik, you're not thinking of joining Carriedo's crew, are you?"_

_"Of course I am! Think about it, Mir! This could be the chance we've been waiting for! Things are looking up! Now come on!"_

_Mircea didn't move but to sadly shake his head._

_"Why're you looking so sad if you're shaking your head yes?" Viktor asked._

_"Because, Vik, the rest of the world doesn't shake their heads in affirmation. I can't go, and you know that. If I left, what would become of Stefan? I won't allow him to be placed in some orphanage, meaning I've got to stay with him."_

_"We could take him with us! He could be the cabin boy or something!" Viktor retorted, his green eyes glittering. Mircea again looked at him sadly._

_"Vik, no."_

Viktor was rudely awakened by a sudden impact, and a pair of bright blue eyes standing above him.

"Wakey-wakey, Sleeping Beauty!" Mathias yelled, nearly breaking Viktor's eardrum.

"Wha—? Wh're 'mI? Viktor mumbled incoherently.

"Can you repeat that, Buddy? Didn't quite catch it," the Dane said with a smile.

"Never mind," Viktor said, smoothing down his hair. He glanced around, finding himself in a large aerodrome filled with people running this way and that, many of them speaking in a harsh language Viktor identified as German. The Bulgarian spotted Iona standing on the dock itself, talking with an attendant, a worried look on her face. After a few moments, she pointed towards where Vash was lying at the prow of the craft, and waved Viktor and Mathias over.

"This man says that an ambulance will be here in five minutes to take Winston to the hospital. George, can you and Charlie go and get all of our things from the boat? I'm going to make sure that that Win gets off okay," the Scotswoman said in a distinctly English accent. Viktor knew that she meant for them all to speak in such a dialect, and it suddenly made sense why she had told him not to speak unless directly spoken to.

"Of course, Maggie, but don't leave without us!" Mathias replied. Viktor had to try hard not to show his surprise at how convincing Mathias sounded.

"I won't, but be quick," Iona said with a nod.

Viktor and Mathias returned to the vessel, Viktor grabbing all four bags while Mathias discreetly radioed back to _Der Adler_ to notify them that they had arranged for Vash to get medical care.

Once they had rejoined their 'sister,' all three jumped into the back of the ambulance, and left for the hospital.

**_The English Rose_—March 5th, 1890—09:00**

**Amelia F. Jones**

Amelia woke up warm and comfortable, or as comfortable as she could be with stitches in her abdomen, feeling content. She glanced around, surprised to find herself in an empty bedroom which was not her own, though relieved to find that she still wore all of her clothing.

"Oh, good, you're awake," a voice said from the other side of the room. Amelia rolled over and looked at Arthur, who was smoothing out his deep red coat before putting it on.

"And ready to face the world!" Amelia exclaimed, bolting out of the bed, nearly tripping over the sheets.

"I believe you should probably clean yourself up and change your clothing before you go out and take on the world, Miss Jones. I have to go talk with the rest of my crew about something important, but feel free to take your time and get some food. Do try to stay out of the way. Good day, Miss Jones," Arthur said cordially, all warmness from the day before gone. He was out the door before Amelia could say anything else, and the American woman decided she would take the opportunity to find out more about the captain.

A cursory glance around the room revealed nothing, so Amelia started opening various drawers in the desk, which was a smaller version of the one that sat in Arthur's office. Somewhere in her haste, Amelia accidentally knocked over a large book, causing multiple pieces of loose paper to fall out. The pieces were of many differing sizes and colours, some of them pictures, others handwritten notes.

"Jackpot!" she squealed, picking up the papers. One picture had a man and a woman in formal clothing, and Amelia realised that they were probably Arthur's parents. Another piece of paper had a long note written in messy handwriting, obviously from a male sender. Amelia smiled at pictures of a younger Arthur playing with five other kids who all looked fairly similar, and laughed at letters between him and his siblings. The last two pieces of paper, however, sent Amelia's heart down into her stomach.

The first was small with elegant, feminine script, and simply read:

_"En Ma Fin Est Mon Commencement._

_~Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie~_

_25th December, 1885"_

The second, a much longer letter, was written in what looked to be an entirely different language, until Amelia realised that it was scots dialect.

_"Artie-lad,_

_Canty birthday, wee brother. You're finally a jimmy, even if ye don't keek lik' yin juist yit. Sorry that Ah can't be thare tae celebrate wi' ye th'day. Hopefully, this letter wis accompanied by mah gift tae ye, fur otherwise, th' neist few lines won't mak' a lick o' sense. It's traditional, in a fowk stowed oot o' Royal Air Force captains, tae the noo a dagger tae a jimmy oan his fifteenth birthday. Fur thare ur sae damn mony o' us, though, th' twins 'n' Dylan hud tae be skipped, meaning you're th' jammy git wha gets tae follow me intae th' Academy 'n' th' RAF. Ye shuid be receiving yer letter sometime aroond Yule, by whilk point, Ah'll be thare tae actually celebrate it wi' ye. Tak' care o' th' dagger, fur ye don't git anither. 'N' Arthur, tak' care o' yersel'. Ah ken it's pernicketie wi'oot th' rest o' us aroond, 'n' you're stuck in Englain by yersel', bit mind, ye aye hae yer fowk, na maiter howfur spread oot it's. We micht tease ye 'n' taunt ye whiles, 'n' Ah realise that hauf th' time, ye juist waant us a' tae gang die in hell, bit at th' end o' th' day, mind that we a' loue ye, 'n' aye wull, regardless o' glaikit hings tae decide. Anyway, Ah hae tae git gaun. They're shipping me aff tae Poland fur th' neist few months, bit Ah'll see ye aroond Yule. Canty birthday, Arthur._

_Love,_

_Alistair"_

She didn't understand most of what it was saying because the dialect was so weird, but she noticed that the letter was dated around sometime in October, and suddenly, Amelia felt faintly ill. Arthur had told her that Alistair had been killed ten days before Christmas, meaning that this letter was probably the last time Arthur heard from his brother.

She rapidly put everything back into the pages of the book and replaced it on the shelf, before running out of the room and into her own.

A little while later, she heard Arthur and a few of his men walk past her door, speaking in hushed voices.

"So they've sent a team into Berlin? Wonderful. That's at least a few less people to contend with tomorrow. We'll attack them when their guards are down," Arthur said, earning grunts of approval from the others. Amelia listened to their footsteps echo down the hallway, making sure they were out of earshot before letting out a small whimper, tears escaping from her eyes

**Alistair's Letter Translation:**

**"Artie-lad,**

**Happy Birthday, Little Brother. You're finally a man, even if you don't look like one just yet. Sorry that I can't be there to celebrate with you today. Hopefully, this letter was accompanied by my gift to you, because otherwise, the next few lines won't make a lick of sense. It's traditional, in a family full of Royal Air Force captains, to present a dagger to a man on his fifteenth birthday. Because there are so damn many of us, though, the twins and Dylan had to be skipped, meaning you're the lucky git who gets to follow me into the Academy and the RAF. You should be receiving your letter sometime around Christmas, by which point, I'll be there to actually celebrate it with you. Take care of the dagger, because you don't get another. And Arthur, take care of yourself. I know it's difficult without the rest of us around, and you're stuck in England by yourself, but remember, you always have your family, no matter how spread out it is. We might tease you and taunt you sometimes, and I realise that half the time, you just want us all to go die in Hell, but at the end of the day, remember that we all love you, and always will, regardless of stupid decisions. Anyway, I have to get going. They're shipping me off to Poland for the next few months, but I'll see you around Christmas. Happy Birthday, Arthur.**

**Love,**

**Alistair"**


	12. Chapter 12: The Innocence of a Child

**Berlin, Germany—March 5th, 1890—19:00**

**Iona Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona sat quietly in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting for the doctors to come out of the operating room. Vash had been in surgery since they'd arrived at the large hospital in Berlin, and she'd spent most of her day relating the cover story the group had come up with to various doctors and legal people.

_What I wouldn't give to be sitting around the table with the rest of the crew right now instead of being here. I have a bad feeling about being down here without everyone else... Something's going to happen..._ she thought to herself. She fidgeted slightly in her seat, trying to muffle the sounds of her stomach growling.

Suddenly, the lead doctor came into the room with a tired look on his face.

"Well? Will Winston be okay?" Mathias asked sincerely, giving the doctor a wide-eyed look.

"_Ja_, your _bruder_ will survive, and we should have him back on his feet within two weeks, so worry not. Do you three have a place to stay or were you planning to spend the night here at the hospital?" the German man said, looking over at Iona.

"We're staying at a hotel about three kilometers away. I think it's called the Honigmond Inn," Iona replied, earning a nod from the doctor.

"That is an excellent choice. I do suggest heading over there now, as they're about to close this waiting area for the night. If anything happens, someone will fetch one of you," the doctor said with a polite smile. The three pirates stood and gathered their bags, taking a moment to shake hands with the doctor as they filed out of the building and onto the street. A mixture of horse-drawn carriages and steam-powered cars flew past the trio, and Iona had to hold down her long green skirt a few times to make sure it didn't reveal too much.

"Mat, do you have the portable radio?" the Scotswoman asked, waving her arm in an attempt to call a cab.

"_Ja_. I have it in my bag, and it's already sent to the correct frequency," Mathias answered. He too was trying to hail a driver, with just as little success. Finally, Viktor stepped up, placed two fingers in his mouth, and gave a very loud whistle. Almost immediately, a carriage came thundering up, pulled along by a pair of beautiful russet-coloured horses.

Iona and Mathias simply stared at the Bulgarian, who flashed them a sneer and threw his bag into the back of the carriage.

"Where to, _Schöne_?" the driver asked, eyeing Iona in a way that made her feel faintly violated.

Mathias stepped between his 'sister' and the driver, and said, "Honigmond Inn, please," in an unusually cold voice. Iona felt a pang of pride at how well he was slipping into the role of the older brother. The driver nodded and watched as Mathias helped Iona into the carriage before throwing the rest of their bags in, and joining the other two in the back.

The ride to the hotel was quiet as all three travelers gazed in wonder at the city around them.

_Dylan would love this place_, Iona mused, thinking about her flaxen-haired brother and his love of big cities. She was almost certain that, had her brother ever come to Berlin, he would've never left, and her visit there would most likely have been for a much different and much happier reason. Iona wondered how her right-hand sibling was doing now that he had settled down and gotten married that past November, despite the fact that he and his wife were only twenty-two years of age. She had attended the wedding, unbeknownst to any of her surviving siblings, and had even given the couple the gift of a beautifully carved stone dragon with the phrase, "En Ma Fin," at its feet, a message she hoped her brother had not missed. She thought back to that crisp November day, and smiled at the thought of the twins in their matching suits, girlfriends dressed in warmly coloured silk dresses on their arms, laughed at the memory of Dylan standing at the altar looking nervous as he waited for his bride to walk down the aisle, and sighed when she remembered seeing Arthur in much the same position as herself: sitting at the very back of the church in Cardiff, dressed to the nines, but looking for all the world like he was going to bolt the moment the ceremony ended. She could see her own dress in her mind's eye, a beautiful thing Francis had once given her made of deep blue satin with white piping at the neck and wrists, meant to call to mind the Scottish flag. Then again, a lot of her clothing had that particular colour scheme, but this dress especially stuck out in her mind because she had left it at home in London when she'd run away, and retrieving it for the wedding had been the first time in five years that she'd stepped foot in the great London manor.

Somebody tapped her lightly on the arm, and called her cover name. Mechanically, Iona allowed herself to be helped out of the carriage and escorted into the lobby of the grand hotel, staring up in wonder at the beautiful stained glass ceiling

"Hey, Margaret, can you go check us in while we pay the driver?" Mathias called, nodding to the driver who was still sitting outside.

Iona smiled in affirmation, and walked over to the front desk.

"_Guten Abend, gnädige Frau. _How may I help you?" the woman behind the desk said with an obviously practised smile.

"I'm very well, thank you. I'm here to check in. It should be under George Macdonald, and it's for three rooms indefinitely," Iona said, giving an equally fake smile in return. The woman looked at a small screen in front of her, and typed in a few things.

"Ah, yes, here we go. You wanted it charged to the bank account of a Mister Sean H. Kirkland-Mackenzie?" the woman said dubiously. Iona nodded.

"Yes. That's my brother-in-law who's funding this emergency trip. My older brother, Winston, is in the hospital after we were attacked by a Russian Federation ship on our way to Vienna for our grandmother's funeral, which is why our stay here is indefinite. Sadly, we won't make the funeral, but it's better to care for the family you still have than to risk a man's life for the dead," Iona said, hoping that she was still convincing enough after a long day of repeating the same story over and over again.

The woman nodded, dug around in a drawer, and pulled out three keys.

"Here you go. Rooms 350, 351, and 352. The stairs are down that hallway and on your left. Enjoy your stay, Miss."

By that point, Mathias and Viktor had re-entered the lobby, and Iona waved them over to the stairs. Once they had sidled up to her, she doled out keys and took her bag from Viktor.

"I'm going to shower and change into something more comfortable before dinner, okay? Can I trust the two of you to behave?" she teased with a slight grin. The two men nodded, and they went to their respective rooms.

Once inside, Iona threw her bag into the wardrobe, made sure the door which connected her room to Mathias' room and the large sitting area the three of them would share was locked, and flopped down onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow. She was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, even though it was only 19:30 according to the clock on the bedside table.

"Really hoping that this isn't becoming a pattern, because this is the second day in a row I've wanted to skip meals in favour of sleep," she mumbled into the pillow. She figured that the shower excuse gave her at least an hour, if not longer, so she quickly rid herself of her green traveling dress and slipped into a simple white blouse and a black skirt before climbing under the sheets of the large queen bed.

She lay there for a while, listening to the sounds of cars outside and the general noises of the city.

"_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_" she sang softly, choosing to hum the rest of the song as she fell asleep.

The next thing she knew, she was in a different city, one unlike any other she'd ever seen. The colours were bright and crisp, and the architecture looked like an odd mix of Western Europe, Slavic, and Southern Europe. She was somewhere in the Balkans.

"_Remember me to one who lives there; she once was a true love of mine," _a familiar voice sang behind her. She wheeled around and leapt at Mircea, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Mir! You're here! How are you here? Are you actually here? Where is here? Am I dreaming? What's going on?" she asked in quick succession, earning a sheepish laugh from the Romanian man.

"'ona, calm down! I'll explain!" he said, returning the hug. "Yes, you're dreaming, yes I'm really, truly here, magic, this is Bucharest according to my imagination, and I missed you. Any other questions?" Mircea said, faintly muffled by Iona's hair.

"...You missed me?" Iona said questioningly, pulling back to look at him.

Mircea turned red and reached up to ruffle her hair, laughing softly.

"Well, with Captain Beilschmidt in that mood you put him in this morning, and Daniel insulting me at every turn, yeah, I kind of miss you. Bonnefoy's crew mainly stays with one another in the secondary airlock bay, so I've got no one to talk to with you gone, and no one to curl up on the top deck with" he murmured. Now, it was Iona's turn to blush, and her face became almost as dark red as her hair. She buried her face in Mircea's chest in an attempt to hide it.

"So you're here by magic? Since when did you know how to dream walk? That's something that only the most powerful can do," she said.

"I'm stronger than I look," Mircea sniffed, earning a look of surprise from the Scotswoman.

"You never cease to amaze me, Mir. Guess you've been going easy on me all this time," Iona laughed.

"Only a little, _draga mea_. You have your little mind-reading spell, I have my dreams. We're even," Mircea laughed.

"Did you just call me a dragon?"

"Er...no. I, um, well, I called you my friend."

"Right...I hope you realise that parts of your language are really weird," Iona said with a smirk.

"Yeah? Well, your accent makes you sound like you're speaking a language even weirder than mine," Mircea teased in return, pulling Iona in for another hug.

"So really, why are you here?" Iona asked, looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

Mircea thought for a few moments. "Because I want to make sure I'm not going crazy. I feel like something's about to happen, what with all of us so focused on Vash and everything, and I don't like it. Am I losing it, 'ona?"

"Nae. I've been feeling it too, all day. I thought it was just nerves about walking amongst civilians, but now that I know I'm not the only one, I'm not so sure," Iona said.

"Well, whatever it is, we'll face it together! How's Berlin? Is it awesome? What's the food like? Are the people totally scary like Captain Beislchmidt and his little brother?" Mircea chirped.

"I spent most of my day in the hospital, Mircea, so I know about as little as you do. From what I saw, it's very nice, and very clean, and the people have been very kind, for the most part. I haven't eaten all day, and at this rate, I probably won't. I'm too tired," Iona replied with a shrug. Mircea chuckled softly, rolling his eyes.

Iona suddenly felt something pulling the two of them apart, as though a string were attached to both of their backs and somebody was tugging them.

"I have to go. Promise me that you'll be safe?" Mircea sighed, giving Iona one last squeeze.

"Promise," the young woman said with a nod.

Mircea faded away, and the city soon followed until Iona was left in inky darkness. She awoke a few moments later back in her hotel room. Mathias stood over her.

"Oi! How'd you get in?" Iona screeched.

"You left it unlocked, Maggie," Mathias said, rubbing his ears.

"Oh. Why are you here?"

"It's been an hour, and we're starving! Come on! Let's go find food and booze!" Mathias yelled, picking the tired Scotswoman up and throwing her to the floor. She swiped at him with her nails in retaliation, but it had no effect.

"Aye, come on. Let's see what Berlin has to offer," she sighed.

_**The English Rose—**_**23:45**

**Stefan Zeltser-Bălan**

Stefan hovered in the shadows of the hallway, making sure to stay out of the square of light coming from Captain Kirkland's office. He wasn't supposed to be up this late, nor was he supposed to be listening in on the captain's conversations with the other crew members, but a few words had caught his interest.

"Let me get this straight, Mister Erickson. You're telling me that you the individuals you sparred with were a young Romanian man and a Scottish woman, both of whom possessed magic? Do you really expect me to believe that?" Captain Kirkland growled. Stefan shivered at the ice in his voice.

"I know what I saw and heard, Captain. The man was most definitely Romanian, and I remember that his companion called him 'Mircea,' which I do believe is a Romanian name. He had magic, just like you and me," Mister Erickson said coolly.

"And remind me of the woman's description? You're sure she was Scottish? If you're telling me the truth, I'll make you a very happy man. However, if you're lying to me, I'll make you into shoes."

"Yes sir. She was as Scottish as they come, sir. I could barely understand her."

"Did the Romanian man refer to the woman by name at all?"

"Yes."

"And...?"

"Her name was Iona, sir."

Captain Kirkland sat and thought for a moment, glaring daggers at his magician.

"She didn't happen to look like this," he started, pulling out a small photograph and showing it to the Norwegian man, "did she?"

Mister Erickson gasped and nodded.

"That's the girl, sir. Do you know her?" he gulped.

"Do I know her? Do I know her? By bloody God yes I fucking know her. You want to know who that God-forsaken witch you met was?"

Mister Erickson nodded again.

"That goddamned woman is my goddamned fucking runaway of a sister and you let her get away with stealing from me?! I stationed you in that room for one reason, and one reason only, and that was to catch anyone who tried to steal from us! Not only did you let me down, Lukas, but you let my fucking older sister and her little Romanian boyfriend steal from us! I cannot believe you, dammit! What the bloody fucking hell?! By God, if you ever see her again, I want you to capture her on sight. Do I make myself clear?" Captain Kirkland screamed, and Stefan couldn't contain a small yelp. Both men turned, and Captain Kirkland narrowed his eyes.

"Stefan, come here," he said, composing himself. Stefan timidly crept over to Captain Kirkland's side, cowering a little at the cruel look that still lingered in the Englishman's eyes.

"How much of that did you hear, my boy?" Captain Kirkland asked.

"A-all of it, sir," the boy squeaked.

"And why were you listening to our conversation?"

"B-b-because I heard you talking about the magic people who attacked Mister Erickson! I saw them too!" the child blurted, throwing his arms into the air. This earned a curious look from the captain and his companion.

"Really now? Do tell," the Englishman purred.

"I heard voices coming down the hall and then I saw these two hooded people jump into one of the corridor closets and so I also hid 'cause I thought some scary bad guy was going to come get me and after that, they walked out of the closet and down the hallway, but I lost track of them when they disappeared down the stairs and I waited for them to return so that I could bring them to you, but I heard them fighting Mister Erickson and it sounded really, really scary, so I hid around the corner until I heard my brother, Mircea's voice and him and a funny sounding lady stood at the top of the stairs, but then she put her hood on and walked away and I really wanted to say hi to my big brother, but I didn't want to get into any trouble and I really wish I had said hi anyways and I miss him and I wanna go to be-e-e-d," Stefan said rapidly, his face turning red. Tears welled up in his large red-brown eyes, and his bottom lip quivered.

"Shhh. Don't cry, Stefan. It's okay," Captain Kirkland said, his tone much gentler than it had been moments before. Stefan wiped his eyes and nose with one grimy sleeve and nodded. All he really wanted right now was a hug, but he knew he couldn't ask the captain for one.

"Are you going to hurt my big brother?" he asked with a sniff. the captain ruffled his hair and smiled.

"No, I'm not going to hurt your brother, Stefan."

"Okay. I'm gonna go to bed now. Goodnight, Captain!"

Stefan skittered off, only stopping to admire how the cannons and guns and the piles of ammo which surrounded them shone in the moonlight, all of them trained on a pair of ships flying half a mile away.

_Be safe, Mircea, and be happy,_ Stefan thought, staring at the bright moon.


	13. Chapter 13: Mein Gott!

_**Der Adler**_**—March 6th, 1890—09:00**

**Yao Wang**

The air inside the ship hummed with excitement as everybody prepared for landing in Berlin. Beilschmidt's crew had taken down the infamous skeleton eagle flag which flew above the ship in favour of a Prussian flag the albino captain had magically produced from his desk. All guns and cannons were taken out of their port holes and stored within the belly of the craft, and all decks were scrubbed spotless. By the end of a very long three hours, _Der Adler_ looked like any Prussian merchant's ship. Far away, Yao could see that Carriedo's ship had done the same, even to the point of covering up the name of the boat and replacing it with _El Tomate_.

"Yao, have you finished packing bags?" Francis called from the floor above.

"_Shì de, xiānshēng!_ All of the bags are packed and I'm just waiting on Matthew to come help me take them to each room," Yao replied, gesturing to the various overnight bags and duffels and backpacks that lay on the floor around him.

"He should, like, be down there already," Feliks huffed.

"I don't see him, you girly-man," Yao said, crossing his arms.

"_Uhm, guys? I'm right here,_" a quiet voice behind Yao said. The Chinese man jumped.

"Aiya! Don't scare me like that! I'm an old man, dammit," he cried.

"You're 27, Yao. Last I checked, that's not very old," Francis laughed.

"_Sorry aboot that, but I really have been standing here since we came downstairs," _Matthew said with a nervous smile. Yao nodded.

"Alright. Let's get this stuff to everybody's rooms and be done with it. I've been up since 06:00 and I want breakfast," he said, throwing two bags over his shoulder. Matthew did the same, and the two of them walked up the stairs into the main corridor of the living area of the ship.

"Have we heard anything from Carriedo and his crew, Captain?" Yao asked as he poked his head into a room filled with maps of all sizes and colours. Francis sat at a table in the corner, looking over maps of Berlin and the surrounding areas, trying to find a place to safely land the ships.

"_Oui_. They're ready and waiting for our signal. We land around 12:00," Francis replied, running a hand through his long blond hair.

"Right. I'll leave your bag outside the door, okay?"

Francis nodded, returning to his maps.

Yao and Matthew quickly finished their chore, and headed to the kitchen where Berwald was in the process of cooking eggs.

"How in the world are you all able to keep eggs on this ship? There's no ice box or way to keep them cool and fresh," Yao said, pointing to the frying pan.

"M'gic," Berwald grunted.

"You must be joking! Magic isn't real," Matthew snorted as he and Yao took their seats at the grand oak table.

"Are you sure about that? The last time I checked, it was very real," a voice chuckled from the stairwell. The Romanian kid, whose name Yao could not remember, and Captain Beilschmidt walked over to the table, joining the Hungarian man, Daniel, at the far end. Beilschmidt and the Romanian gave each other a wide berth, and the tension between the two men was tangible.

"_Shénme?_ What proof do you have? Fortune cookie told me this morning to only believe what I see, and I see no magic here!" Yao said defiantly.

"_Ó, Istenem,_ it's too early for you to be starting this. Don't encourage the little _idióta_," Daniel groaned. Feliks patted him on the back supportively.

"I can show you magic, old man," the Romanian taunted, standing up. He leaned over the table and looked Yao in the eyes, making the Chinese man shrink back faintly.

"I don't want to see any of your demon magic. Get out of my face. Your breath smells like ass," Yao grumbled, but it was obvious the Romanian didn't hear him.

Suddenly, the room went dark, and Yao found himself face-to-face with a pair of demonic red eyes and a fanged grin.

"You sure you don't believe in magic? I certainly do~ In fact, it's my entire job," the Romanian's voice purred, seeming to come at Yao from all sides. He felt something wrapping around him like an invisible snake.

"Okay, okay! Magic is real! Calm down, you jerk," the Chinese man yelled. The room returned to normal, and everybody shot a glare at the Romanian man.

"Great! I'll go get the _cafea_!" the Romanian said with a smile.

"_Tut mir so leid für ihn_. He's not usually like this because I usually have him trained to be a good little subordinate," Captain Beilschmidt sighed apologetically, putting his head down on the table. He looked like a man who could use a vacation.

"Remind me why you named him second mate instead of me?" Daniel growled.

"Because he joined before you did," Beilschmidt responded as the Romanian placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him.

"And don't you forget it, _Maghiar_," the Romanian sneered.

"Don't **you** forget the rules, Mircea. I swear, if you ever pull a stunt like that again on anyone, I'm turning you in to the authorities immediately and laugh while they execute you for piracy, got it? Now is not the time to be showing off what you can do. Just because Miss Mackenzie isn't here to make sure you don't make an ass of yourself doesn't mean that you're allowed to just run amuck and perform magic whenever you feel like it. For one, it's against the rules of this ship. It's also a good way to get your ass kicked. Understood?" Beilschmidt snarled, glaring at Mircea. He had reached his last nerve, only to have it danced upon by his temporary first mate.

"Aye, sir. _Îmi pare rău,_" Mircea said, sitting back down and cowering a little. Yao noticed that he no longer had the mischievous glint in his eyes, and really, he looked just as tired as his captain.

"Everybody, eat quickly. We must be prepared by the time noon arrives," Beilschmidt said, regaining his composure. In the three days that he'd been on _Der Adler_, Yao had watched Gilbert Beilschmidt go from a hyperactive, egotistic young man to a weary, irritable shell of a human being. The previous morning obviously hadn't helped much.

_The Morning Previous—04:45_

"_Was die verdammte Hölle trägst du, Iona?!" Gilbert screamed, stomping after his first mate. He was making enough noise to rouse the dead, but in his anger, he quite honestly didn't care who he woke up._

"_You're going to have to speak English, Gilbert. I don't understand German, and I especially don't understand it this early in the morning," Iona said in an even voice, standing in the main area of the ship, waiting for Mathias. _

"_You look like a girl!"_

"_I am, in fact, a woman, yes, so it would be normal for me to look like a woman."_

"_What the fuck?!" _

"_Swearing at me doesn't give me any inclination of what's wrong."_

"_You're in direct violation of the one and only rule I've ever given you, and you act like it's nothing! I demand you go put your bindings and trousers on immediately before everyone—"_

"_Everybody's already seen, Gilbert! The gig is up."_

"_It doesn't matter."_

"_Then why force me to wear those bloody clo—"_

"_Because I said so, dammit, and I'm the fucking captain!"_

"_That's the shittiest excuse I've ever heard in my entire damn life. Like hell I'm going to liste—"_

"_Now__, Iona! You will listen to me, or so help me God—"_

"_God won't fucking help you, you asshole! I dare you to do your absolute worst!"_

_By this point, most of the crew had drifted to the gathering place to see what all the commotion was about. _

"_Szent szar! Captain, there's a woman onboard," Daniel yelled, pointing at Iona, her identity obviously not registering with the tired Hungarian man._

"_I know there's a woman onboard, you dummkopf!" Gilbert snarled._

"_Gilbert, will you stop screaming? Let the others sleep, and leave them out of it," Iona begged as Gilbert grabbed her arm, intending to drag her back to her room._

"_Leave the others out of what?" Francis yawned, looking around at the inhabitants of Der Adler, though missing Iona._

"_Francis! A little help here would be greatly appreciated," the Scotswoman said, giving Francis a pleading look._

"_Oh Mon Dieu, Iona! What on Earth are you doing here? Gilbert, unhand her!" Francis cried, his blue eyes filled with shock as he suddenly noticed his former lover._

"_I'll explain, but only if someone gets this maniac off of me!"_

_Francis stood there, frozen, his mind unable to get any messages to his muscles. He could only watch as his former girlfriend struggled to escape Gilbert's grasp in front of him, her hair falling out of its neat ponytail. Iona managed to wriggle out of the albino's grasp, and started towards Francis, but was stopped almost immediately by Gilbert stepping on the hem of her favourite blue and silver cloak. The sound of fabric tearing cut through the air, and Iona screamed._

"_What the bloody fucking hell?! Are you so goddamn prideful and possessive that you can't even allow the woman that you supposedly 'love' be herself? Were you ever trying to 'protect' me, or was that all a bloody ruse to keep me all to yourse—" _

"_Shut up, Iona! You just don't know when to—"_

"_I can't believe I've spent the past five years fooling myself into thinking that I loved you, because honestly, you're just like another one of my snot-nosed, spoilt brat brothers! There's a reason I ran away from the—"_

"_Get a grip on yourself, woman! You will obey me without any argu—"_

"_And now you've gone and ruined something I hold dear! Do you know where I got that cloak? Do you want to know why it's so spe—"_

"_I don't give a damn!"_

"_Alistair gave me that cloak, you asshole, and it's the only thing I have left of my __**dead **__**twin brother, **__and now you've gone and destroyed it, all because you can't stand to let anyone else see me as I really am! I have half a mind to just strangle you right now!"she howled, turning on Gilbert and fixing him with a glare that would make Satan cower in fear. Tears welled up in her silver eyes, and the air around her felt charged, full of magic energy. _

_By this point, Gilbert's face had turned a brilliant red colour, and his entire body shook as he tried and failed miserably to contain his rage._

_Without any warning, he lunged at Iona, just as Mircea stepped between the two of them—_

_CRACK_

_Mircea's hands flew to his left cheek, covering the scarlet handprint Gilbert had left. Despite hitting the wrong target, Gilbert couldn't hold his tongue anymore._

"_Do you dare speak to me that way, you little bitch? First, you disobey a direct order from your captain, and then you have the nerve to yell at me? You should thank the Lord I haven't thrown you into the hold yet!" Gilbert yelled before composing himself, "Now, I will give you one last chance. You will go back to your room immediately and put on your bindings and your normal clothing, and once you've done that, we can pretend that none of this ever happened. If not, I will find some way to punish you. Is that clear?"_

_Mircea whispered something in Iona's ear, and the young woman nodded, her eyes returning to a simple grey colour. _

"_I will not," she said, sticking out her chin and bringing herself to full height. _

"_What?" Gibert choked._

"_I. Will. Not. It's that simple, Gilbert. I have a mission I must prepare for, and I don't have time for such silly things as changing clothing, nor for dealing with immature bastards such as yourself. Feel free to enact whatever punishment you feel fit once I return to the ship after taking Vash to the hospital, but for now, a man's life depends upon me being ready to leave at 05:30," Iona sniffed, giving Gilbert an icy look. She unclasped the cloak and handed it to Mircea delicately, then turned and left the room, headed for the galley._

_The rest of the combined crews just stared, looking from the doorway to Gilbert, and back to the doorway. _

_Mathias, oblivious to what had just happened, burst into the room with a grin on his face."Woah! Why's everybody awake and out here? You're not all going with us, are you?" He was greeted with dead silence as Gilbert shakily pointed to the stairs down to the kitchen._

"_Not another word. Just go and be ready to leave at 05:30," the captain snarled, looking down at the torn piece of blue and silver fabric trapped beneath his foot. _

_~End Flashback~_

It had certainly been interesting, though nobody had actually explained what had happened until later on, and even then, it had been Mircea who had brought everybody up to speed.

"Kids these days..." Yao sighed.

"Like, what was that?" Feliks said, looking at him curiously.

"Nothing, nothing. Eat your breakfast, Feliks," Yao mumbled, getting up to fix his tea.

_**El Corazón—**_**March 6th, 1890—12:00**

**Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo**

"Abel, will you be okay to fly this thing to the Berlin Aerodrome?" Antonio asked, looking out the window of the bridge. Their descent into the Berlin area would be long and tedious, and he worried about his navigator, who really hadn't slept much the night before.

"_Ja_, I'll be fine, Captain. Got some coffee and the spitfire to keep me awake, plus Hercules should be in soon," Abel said with a nod towards Romana, who was curled up on the windowsill with a book.

"_Bueno!_ I'll be in my office if you all need me," the Spaniard called over his shoulder, turning to leave. Something in the window caught his eye, making him freeze.

"Roma, do you see that thing?" he said. The Italian girl looked out the window.

"Not really well, but I think it's another ship," she said.

"Abel, get me my telescope," Antonio commanded. The Dutchman threw a brass cylinder at Antonio, who caught it midair. He marched over to the window and pulled out the telescope. He was met with a sight which made his blood run cold.

"_Mierda. Esa es la nave de Kirkland,_" he swore. It was hard to mistake the pristine ship flying the British flag. Romana looked at him with large, scared eyes.

"You mean that guy you attacked the other day?" she whispered.

"Yeah, the same one. I've got a bad feeling about this. Abel, tell everybody to man the guns," Antonio nodded and said something into a nearby pipe on the wall.

"We'll continue on our path to the landing sight Francis chose, but we should stay alert. Roma, why don't you go find Feliciana and stay in my bedroom? Just to be safe," Antonio said with a smile, disguising the command which lay underneath his words. Romana jumped from the windowsill and breezed past the Spaniard.

"Tell Heracles to radio Gilbert and his ship. Otherwise, we might just be flying into a trap," Antonio said. He nearly ran to his office, just as Heracles was making contact with _Der Adler_.

"Toni, what is it? Your radio guy said it was urgent," Francis yelled almost immediately.

"Kirkland is situated to the north-northeast of us, I'd say about a mile away and getting closer. His guns were brandished," Antonio said.

"What? Life just keeps getting better, doesn't it?" Gilbert huffed.

"What should we do?" Francis said.

"Move faster. Continue heading due east, but bring up our speed. It's the only thing we can do. Surely he wouldn't attack us over the center of a major city," Antonio said, glancing out the window at the city below. They were so close to their destination.

Suddenly, the entire ship rocked, and the radio cut out.

"_Coño! _Mister Karpusi, get everybody stationed," Antonio yelled. Another blast made the entire world shake, and Antonio's life flashed before his eyes.

He dashed into his bedroom where the two Italians cowered in the back of his closet.

"You two! With me! Now!" he yelled, helping both of them up. He took Romana's hand and led the two girls to one of the ship's safety crafts.

"Wait here, and if anything happens, you take this vessel and you get out of here immediately. _¿Comprenden?_" he said, holding Romana's hand to his chest.

"Y-yes, but be safe, _bastardo_!" Romana said, looking him in the eye. Antonio nodded and released her. He was knocked off balance by a third blast.

"Captain, Kirkland's firepower is too strong! We need to evacuate, now! My brother and his crew have begun returning fire on Kirkland, but our radar says we have another ship heading towards us, and this one is much bigger," Ludwig's voice yelled over the loudspeaker. Antonio rushed over to the airlock speaker.

"Ludwig, give the orders, and make sure the girls get out of here safely. We need to get to Gilbert's ship. His ship is armed to the teeth," the captain cried. He punched in the open code for the airlock just as the entire crew rushed in to the bay area.

"Everybody, get in the crafts. There's not enough time to go back for anything," Ludwig barked. The crew obeyed, and once the last person had clambered into a vessel, they launched into the crisp March air.

Transit over to _Der Adler_ only took five minutes, but to Captain Antonio Carriedo, it felt like an eternity as he watched the British ship pummel his beautiful girl to ashes. Tears ran down his cheeks, and Romana even put her head on his shoulder in a sort of comforting gesture, but nothing helped. Without thinking, Antonio wrapped his arms around Romana, burying his face in her auburn hair.

When they finally reached the Prussian ship, they were greeted by Francis and Gilbert, but almost immediately, all three captains dashed to the bridge to continue the assault.

"Sir! We have an even larger ship coming into the area, and I really don't like the looks of this guy," Gilbert's radioman yelled, pressing a button and shooting another cannon at _The English Rose_.

"If they attack us, we fight, and if this ship goes down, we all do," Gilbert growled, looking absolutely demonic. What he didn't realise was that the rest of those onboard his ship had other ideas than going down with the ship.

**Berlin, Germany—March 6th, 1890—The Same Time**

**Iona Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"Guys...guys...I think you need to come out here," Mathias called from the balcony of Vash's hospital room.

"What is it, Mat? A bunch of pretty birds or something?" Iona teased. Mathias shot her a worried look, and the Scotswoman sobered up. She and Viktor joined the Dane on the balcony, and Iona nearly screamed. High above them in the sky were three ships, plus another rapidly falling, its sails on fire.

"Oh dear God Almighty," she breathed as she watched _Der Adler_ send another volley of cannon balls at her baby brother's ship. Suddenly, both ships caught fire as the third ship, a behemoth grey monster, shot simultaneously at them.

"No!" all three crew members yelled. They watched in horror as the grey ship continued shooting round after round at _The English Rose _and _Der Adler_.

"We need to get to the Aerodrome, now," Viktor yelled, running inside to grab their coats. The other two followed.

"Vash, we'll be back soon. Something's come up," Iona whispered in the Swiss man's ear.

They practically sprinted to the Aerodrome, where fire brigades and police cars already waited, everyone focused on the sky above.

_Mircea, you must protect everyone, _Iona thought, hoping that her friend would somehow receive it.

Suddenly, _The English Rose_ exploded, and all around, people screamed. Iona crumpled to the ground. Her brother...her baby brother...

"Alexandru Mircea Bălan, I swear to the ever loving God that if you or any of the others die, I will make your life or afterlife a living hell!" she screamed.

In the confusion, nobody noticed the three small crafts floating down, containing the crew of the British naval ship.

By now, the grey ship had turned its attention on _Der Adler_, and Mathias picked Iona up, enveloping her in a hug as they watched their home be destroyed.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Iona whimpered, unable to watch. Mathias couldn't take his eyes off of the scene.

Many agonising minutes passed, and somehow, _Der Adler_ held out, but finally, the ship gave one last shudder and came tumbling down in a great ball of fire, joining the remains of _The English Rose_ somewhere on the outskirts of the city.

Mathias hugged Iona tighter, burying his face in her hair as a child would bury his face in his mother's skirt. Viktor stood by, watching calmly.

The Dane looked up just in time to see four safety vessels coming into the Aerodrome.

"Iona, they made it!" he yelled, releasing the young woman.

"What? What do you mean?" she said.

"Come on! We need to go find them," Mathias said, tugging Iona behind him. All three pirates dashed into the building, evading authorities until they finally reached the four crafts, just as Mircea jumped out.

"Mircea! _Oh ma God, ye'r alive! Oh ma God, oh ma God, oh ma God! Urr ye okay? Urr ye hurt at a'? Whit happened? Dinnae hain ony aw the info. Did a' body mak' it oot alive? Och thank God ye'r okay Ah dinnae think Ah would've kent whit tae dae wi' masell if you'd died, oh ma God,_" Iona yelled, running towards the strawberry blond. She tackled him in a flying hug, knocking him to the ground so that she landed on top of him. Mircea grinned from ear to ear and wrapped his arms around Iona, kissing her on the lips.

"_Entschuldigen Sie mich,_ but what's going on here?" a policeman asked the pair, who were still lying on the ground. Iona came to her senses at that point, turning beet red and leaping up. She brushed off her long black skirt and extended a hand to Mircea, who looked a little dazed.

"I apologise for that, sir. I was just very excited to see my...er...my—"

"I'm her fiancee, is what my darling Margaret is trying to say," Mircea said in an English accent, putting an arm around Iona protectively.

"Yes, sorry officer. I was just so worried. I couldn't believe it when I saw my fiancee's company's ship being attacked, oh it was horrifying! I thought I'd never get to see Mircea again," Iona said in an equally English accent. She buried half of her face in Mircea's side, playing the part of the worried fiancée. The officer turned red.

"Yes, well, we're glad to see that you're all okay. Where are the captains of the vessels we just witnessed being shot down?"

Mircea pointed back towards the vessels as Gilbert climbed out, his hair slicked back and his eyes now a vibrant blue.

"_Danke,_ sir," the officer said, turning to walk towards the others.

"Wait a second...Mircea?" a voice called from behind them. Mircea and Iona wheeled around, and Iona noticed that Mircea looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Viktor? Is that you?" the Romanian said, squinting.

"_Това си ти!_ Oh my God, I don't believe it!" Viktor cried, running towards them. Mircea released Iona, and the Scotswoman watched in amusement as the two men embraced, clapping each other on the back and speaking in their respective languages.

"_Prietenul meu!_ You're the Bulgarian they were talking about? How could I not have known?" Mircea said, a smile dancing on his face.

"You should've known, you fool. I joined Carriedo's crew, remember?" Viktor said. Mircea turned bright red as he considered the Bulgarian's words.

"You never know. They could've picked up another."

"How are you? It's been forever," Viktor said.

_For a pair that haven't seen each other in 'forever,' they certainly know how to pick up where they left off,_ Iona thought, smiling. She didn't mind that they'd walked away without her. She'd heard all of Mircea's stories about his best friend, a Bulgarian named Viktor, and she honestly wondered how she hadn't made the connection sooner.

Iona looked up just in time to catch Viktor looking at her in a way that made her shiver. It wasn't the sort of look that creepy old men gave young girls who's clothing was a little too tight or too short. It was the look of a man with a dangerous secret, and immediately, Iona knew he was up to something.


	14. Chapter 14: I'm Never Going Back—

**Berlin, Germany—March 6th, 1890—16:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

Arthur didn't entirely know what to do with himself. Punching things and shouting abuse at people hadn't helped calm the storm that raged inside of him, and despite being on his third pint of beer, the pain of losing his ship had not dulled even a little.

"Oh God, this is a nightmare," he wailed. The only person who reacted in the slightest was Amelia, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, only to have it pushed away by the despondent Englishman.

"It'll be okay, Arthur. You can get yourself a new ship!" the American said, putting on a cheery smile.

"Just leave me here to die. I should've gone down with my ship," Arthur mumbled, finishing off his pint. "You, wench over there—Bring me another pint!"

The barmaid glared at him, but complied, muttering under her breath in German.

"Um, Arthur, I really think you need to take it easy on the alcohol. It's not going to make anything better, and really, it's just going to destroy your liver," Amelia said nervously, carefully inching the pint away from her companion.

"I don't care. My beautiful lady's been destroyed by those damn bloody Russians and I've lost everything!"

"Arthur-san, I think you should listen to Miss Jones. Plus, I heard that Bonnefoy, Carriedo, and Beilschmidt are also here in the city, and I'm sure they'll be out for blood. You need to be as alert as possible," Kiku added. Amelia leaned over and mouthed, "Thanks," before handing the Japanese man Arthur's drink.

"Let them. I deserve to die! It's no wonder my parents always left me with my siblings, and Alistair went and joined the Air Force and Iona ran away. Who would want to be around a failure like me?" Arthur cried, his words slurred.

"No, don't say that! None of that is true, you big dummy! I'm sure they all had other reasons. Come on, let's get you to that corner table over there, where you can't order any more drinks," Amelia said, draping one of Arthur's arms over her shoulders, Kiku doing the same on the other side. They helped their captain to the table Amelia had pointed out, and Kiku informed the staff of the bar that they were not allowed to offer Arthur alcohol.

The Englishman sat there for a while, staring down at his lap and occasionally sipping from the glass of water Amelia had procured for him.

Kiku noticed a pair of men sitting at a nearby table who looked oddly familiar, and yet, he couldn't quite put his finger on why. They would watch Arthur in his drunken state every once in a while before whispering to each other. Kiku did not like the look of them.

"We're going to need a new ship," Arthur finally said after an hour had passed. His eyes were much clearer and he seemed much less intoxicated.

"Come again?" Kiku said evenly.

"That damn Braginsky isn't getting away with what he did to my ship. By God, we're finding ourselves a new vessel and setting out for Russia because nobody destroys a ship of the British Empire and lives to tell the tale," Arthur growled.

Kiku saw the two men get up and walk towards them out of the corner of his eye.

"Excuse me, and I'm sorry to have been eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear what you just said. You wouldn't happen to be the great Sky Privateer Captain Arthur Kirkland, would you?" one young man said in a Hungarian accent. His eyes were a forest green colour, and his long brown hair was tied back with a flower-covered ribbon.

"H-how did you come to that conclusion?" Arthur stammered, looking faintly alarmed. He was now completely sober.

"Because I heard you talking about an attack from the Russian Federation. You see, we were on the other ships, _The Corazón _and_ Der Adler,_ so it's safe to assume that you were on _The English Rose_. Now, you're the only man here with an English accent, so by process of elimination, we figured that you must be Kirkland. We've been sent here by our bosses. I'm Daniel, Gilbert Beilschmidt's radioman and first mate, and my friend here is Viktor Aleksandrov, Antonio Carriedo's engineer. We have a message for you, Captain Kirkland," the Hungarian said. Arthur eyed the two men carefully. Viktor Aleksandrov looked like a man who had something up his sleeve that he didn't plan to share any time soon. It made him shiver a little.

"What do those creeps want with us? Can't you tell that Captain Kirkland's not in any state to be doing deals with your loser captains?" Amelia cried, jumping between the two men and her captain.

"Look, we mean no harm. We've been sent for a peaceful mission. Captains Beilschmidt, Bonnefoy, and Carriedo wish to speak with you, Captain Kirkland. You can check us for weapons if you'd like, but I guarantee you won't find any. We're just here to deliver the message," the second man, a Bulgarian, said, putting up his hands in the universal gesture of innocence, though the glint in his eyes seemed to tell a different story.

"What do those gits want to talk to me about?" Arthur grumbled.

"Revenge on the Russians," Daniel hissed, stepping around Amelia and leaning across the table. This caught the attention of the entire crew of _The English Rose_, with the exception of Stefan, who sat by himself on a windowsill, drawing on old receipts the bartender had given him.

"Go on," Arthur said, his glower quickly being replaced by a grin.

"Come to this address at 20:00. You won't be disappointed," Viktor said, dropping a piece of paper onto the table.

"We'll take our leave now. Just remember, only you and your first mate come to this meeting, and you come unarmed. Oh, and Captain Kirkland?" Daniel said, standing up straight and turning towards the door.

"What?"

"Iona says hello."

With that, Daniel and Viktor were gone, leaving Arthur to stare after them, completely speechless.

"Well, Captain, are you going to go?" Sadik asked.

"Yes, Sadik, I do believe I will," Arthur replied, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Amelia demanded.

"To my room. I must look my best," Arthur said, disappearing up the stairs.

**Brandenburg Gate—March 6th, 1890—20:00**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

"Do you think he'll show up? It's 20:00 now, and there's still no sign of him," Francis said, leaning up against a pillar of the giant structure.

"Yes, I do, if only because he's so damned prideful that he'll show up just to gloat about how he struck down Toni's ship," Gilbert snarled, looking intimidating as he stood in the central opening of the gate, the image of some Prussian god of vengeance with the statue of Victory high above his head.

"I gave him the message, Captain Beilschmidt," Daniel said, picking at his nails.

All three captains hovered around the Brandenburg, their first mates seated on the ground in a small circle. It had not escaped Francis' notice that the surly Hungarian man had replaced Ja—Iona—as first mate, and he looked at Matthew who had been promoted in Vash's absence. They were a sorry bunch, that was for certain.

"Well, if he doesn't show up in two minutes, I'm leaving. I have some disciplinary matters to attend to," Gilbert huffed. The way he said it made Francis' blood run a little colder.

"That won't be necessary, chaps. I'm here, and I'm trusting you and your band of miscreants to not cause me or Mister Honda any harm," a voice behind one of the pillars said. Arthur Kirkland walked into view followed by a short Japanese man.

"Glad you could make it, _Sourcils_," Francis taunted, waggling his own eyebrows.

"What did you just call me, Frog?" Arthur growled.

"At least I'm an attractive frog who can actually cook, unlike you with your hard-as-rock scones and overly cooked meat, not to mention your completely unstylish haircut," Francis sneered.

"At least I'm a man," Arthur spit.

"Oh, I'm a man, too. Just ask your sister. She'll tell y—"

"Finish that sentence, and so help me God, Francis, I will string you up the flagpole of the Reichstag by your dick and leave you there for the entirety of Prussia to see," Gilbert snarled, just as Arthur yelled, "Don't you dare bring Iona into this!"

"Will all of you be quiet and behave? We're here for a reason," Ludwig barked. All four captains stared at him for a moment.

"Right, sorry. Anyways, why did you three call me here?" Arthur said, regaining his composure and fixing the trio with an icy look.

"We have a proposition for you, Captain Kirkland," Ludwig said, stepping in front of the other three captains.

"So your emissaries told me."

"You want revenge on Braginsky?"

"Yes."

"So do we," Ludwig said with the air of a diplomat, "We have reason to believe he's been following all of us, waiting to attack for a while, perhaps because your ship is technically part of the British Royal Air Force fleet. Why he would target a bunch of pirates, we don't know, but still, he shot down one of us, meaning he shot down all of us, and dammit, we want to know why. I'm sure that this isn't the most appetizing proposal, but what would you think about joining your crew with all three of ours? As it stands, none of us can defeat him on our own, but perhaps if we go against him as a united front, we can win."

"Hell no! Why would I ever want to work with you scoundrels? I'm a gentleman, not some highway bandit," Arthur cried.

"Think about it, Captain Kirkland. If Braginsky and the rest of the Russian Federation see that they can shoot down ships at random with impunity, who knows how long it will be before they start moving into western Europe, including Britain?" Daniel said.

"I will not. Thank you all for wasting my time, goodnight," Arthur yelled, turning to leave.

"Very well, Arthur, but if you change your mind, go to the Honigmond Inn and ask for Margaret, George, or Charlie Macdonald. You have until tomorrow at 23:59," Gilbert said.

"Do you think he'll take us up on it?" Antonio asked once Arthur was out of earshot.

"I'm not sure. We can only hope," Francis sighed. The six men made their way back to the hotel where most of them were staying, a place halfway between the hospital and the Aerodrome which was completely pirate-friendly.

"Gil, didn't you say that you had some disciplinary business to take care of?" Antonio said innocently. Francis shook his head.

_Oh, Toni, if only you knew..._ he thought. For as long as he'd known the Prussian, Gilbert's temper had always disturbed Francis, and the previous morning had been no exception. it hadn't taken long for Francis to get over the shock of finding out that James had just been an alias for the past five years, especially not when Francis had seen the unbridled anger in Gilbert's eyes. He shuddered to think what Gilbert had in mind for Iona.

"_Ja_. I have to stop by the Honigmond. I'll see you all in the morning," Gilbert said, his eyes steely.

The Prussian man broke off from the group as they approached the hotel where Viktor, Mathias, and Iona were staying, giving the others one final wave before walking through one of the doors.

**Honigmond Inn—March 6th, 1890—21:30**

**Navigator Mathias Køhler**

"Yo, Captain! How goes it?" Mathias called as Gilbert walked into the living area that adjoined Mathias', Viktor's, and Iona's rooms.

"Go to your bedroom, Mathias. No arguing," Gilbert barked without sparing a glance at the Dane. The venom in his tone made Mathias want to hide, so he obeyed the command.

"Iona, get out here now!" Gilbert yelled. Through the crack he'd left, Mathias could see the Scotswoman enter the living area, her wet hair piled into a messy bun on the top of her head. She wore only a light pink dressing gown.

"Aye? What's so important that it requires you yelling? Do you want hotel management to come up here?" she said politely.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Gilbert snapped.

"About what?"

"First, you disobey a direct order, then you fail to warn us of an impending attack even though I'm sure you knew about it, and then you start snogging Mircea, knowing fully well I'm right there. Not only have you violated at least a dozen rules as a member of the crew, you've also violated a dozen rules as my girlfriend!"

Iona stared at him coldly, her grey eyes flashing.

"I did what I had to. Me coming into the city as a woman was much more believable than me coming as a man. I 'snogged' Mircea because it was an **act**. Otherwise, the police would've been suspicious. Sorry for trying to protect your arse, I won't do it again. Plus, after being part of the crew for five years, I deserve to make my own decisions about how I dress. I'm tired of being your little doll, Gilbert. Also, for the record, I had no idea the attack was coming aside from a knot in my stomach which could have easily been attributed to any number of events that have occurred in the past twenty-four hours."

Gilbert narrowed his red eyes at her, and Mathias was almost worried that his glare would slice the young woman in half.

"Doesn't matter. I'm the captain and you do what I say."

"Doesn't matter. I'm my own person, and I listen to nobody, especially not possessive, immature, egotistical monsters like yourself," Iona taunted. That must've set something off in Gilbert's brain, because next thing anyone knew, he leapt at the young woman and tackled her, punching her in the gut.

"What did you say you little bitch? What did you call me? You should've learned your lesson yesterday morning! I should've just shot you then and there," he yelled, swiping at Iona's face before punching her a second time. Already, much of Iona's torso was covered in large, ugly bruises and scratches.

Iona didn't struggle or fight, choosing instead to simply lie there, taking the abuse with a stoic face.

"Aren't you going to fight, you whore? Aren't you going to say anything?" Gilbert snarled, swiping at her face again, leaving angry red claws marks on her cheek.

"We're done, Gilbert," was all she finally said, but it was enough to make Gilbert freeze.

"W-what?" he stammered, surprised at the evenness of her voice.

"You heard me. We're done. I'm not yours anymore. Honestly, I never have been. You've always been a brother to me, and I told you as much yesterday. I thought I loved you for a while, but it turns out that I'd just tricked myself into thinking that in the first few years after Alistair's death. I didn't need you. I just needed an anchor. I don't love you, Gil. Not like that. You can hit me and injure me all you want, but it's not going to change anything. I won't come running back to you. I'll continue to be part of the crew, but I'm not going to be your girlfriend any longer," Iona said, locking eyes with the captain.

Gilbert's face softened, and he climbed off of Iona with a mournful look.

"Io...I'm sorry...I didn't mean—"

"No, Gil. This is it. I'm tired of being your possession. I want to be free."

Iona picked herself up off the ground, adjusting her dressing gown and walking over to the open bathroom to get something for the marks on her face which were now bleeding profusely.

"But—"

"NO, Gil. No means no. You have bigger things to worry about than a rogue Scotswoman. Resign yourself to the idea that we're just friends now. Period. Go get some rest. You've lost a lot more than a girlfriend," Iona said, pressing a wet towel to her cheek as she walked back into the main room. Her eyes were twin storms, icy and devoid of any joy, making both Mathias and Gilbert jump.

"_Ja._ Meet at the Brandenburg Gate tomorrow morning at 10:00. We need to find a ship large enough to hold all three crews," Gilbert sighed, giving Iona one last mournful stare before turning to leave.

"Goodnight, Captain Beilschmidt," Iona said.

Gilbert left, and Mathias felt that it was now safe to come back out.

"Hey, Iona, you okay? Can I get your anything?" he said. Iona said nothing, but walked over and buried her face in his chest, dropping the towel on the floor as she walked.

Mathias didn't even care about the fact that she was bleeding onto his shirt. She was family for all intents and purposes, and family did whatever was needed for family.

"Shhh. There, there. Everything will work out in the end. What do you need?" the Dane whispered. He felt like he was back home with his own real family, remembering all the times he had comforted his little sister, Ingrid, after she had fallen while trying to play with the big kids.

"I'm going to call Mircea, okay? Are you fine with that? I think Viktor said that he needed to make a call somewhere, so he won't be back till late, but I wanted to make sure you're fine with me having a guest," Iona said into his shirt.

Mathias pulled back and put on his best big brother face.

"That's fine so long as clothing stays on the entire night, and he leaves by 10:00 tomorrow morning. And if I hear even a bit of yelling, I'm throwing him out, got it? This boy'd better treat you right, or else Big Brother Mathias will come get him!" he chuckled, earning a laugh from the Scotswoman.

"Yes sir!" she said, giggling through her tears.

"And how about I phone him? Let's not add any more fuel to the captain's fire," Mathias suggested.

"That sounds good to me. Good thinking."

**Honigmond Inn—March 6th, 1890—23:00**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

Mircea cursed himself for taking so long to make it over to the Honigmond. Even more so, he cursed the captain for not booking everybody in the posh hotel. By the time the Romanian man made it to the hotel, the streets were filled with drunkards and groups of people enjoying their evenings, and Mircea found it all a little overwhelming.

_Not helped at all by the fact that Mathias said it was urgent_, he thought to himself. The moment he had received the call from the Danish man, asking him to come over, Mircea had done everything at twice the speed he normally did.

"350, 350, 350, ah! There we go!" he muttered. He gave three sharp knocks on the door, which swung open by itself.

"Hello? Anybody home or am I about to get attacked by _strigoi_?" he called.

"I'm in here!" someone squeaked from the bathroom. Mircea heard the sound of running water and swearing, and followed it to the source.

"Iona? What's going on?" he said, looking around at the luxurious hotel room.

Iona turned around, holding something to her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and it was obvious that she'd been crying. Mircea noticed deep purple bruises through the thin fabric of her dressing gown, and he could see a cut across her collarbone.

"_Dumnezeule! Ce naiba sa întâmplat?"_ he exclaimed, not even thinking about which language he was using. He rushed over to her side just as she took what Mircea noted was a wet towel away from her cheek, revealing four long scratches.

"Holy shit, Iona! You're hurt! What the fuck?" he yelled. Iona clamped her other hand over his mouth.

"Will you stop screaming? I've had enough of it in the past two days," she hissed.

"Sorry," Mircea said sheepishly. He followed Iona over to the fluffy-looking bed, sitting down beside her. "But really, what happened? Who hurt you like this? Let me go beat them within an inch of their pathetic life and then make the rest of that life hell! Tell me!"

Iona shook her head, tears running down her face. Mircea gathered her up into his arms, holding her there while sobs racked her body.

"Iona...what happened to you?" he whispered, running his hand up and down her back comfortingly.

Finally, Iona extricated herself from his embrace and returned to her own spot on the side of the bed, using her arm to wipe away any tears still left on her face.

"Gilbert and I exchanged...words," she said, obviously trying to find the right way to phrase her statement. She avoided Mircea's gaze, opting instead to fiddle with the sleeve of her gown.

"Looks like he gave you more than just words," Mircea said, reaching out to brush aside the top of her dressing gown and touch one of the bruises on her shoulder.

"I'm fine, Mir. Don't worry. I'm alive," Iona said, moving away from his hand and tugging her robe back into place. Mircea noted with a start that she wasn't actually wearing anything under it.

"Iona, you have scrapes and cuts and bruises all over your body. You're not fine. Even if you didn't have all the physical injuries, your mind is screaming right now. I can hear it," Mircea said softly.

"I knew I shouldn't have taught you how to read minds," Iona said with a small laugh.

"I'm glad you did. God, Iona, look at yourself! You look like you've been in a fight with a wild animal! Did you just lie there and let him do this?"

"Yes, I did. I saw no point in fighting back when he had the advantage."

"He could've killed you."

"He threatened to."

"What stopped him?"

"I broke up with him," Iona said, finally meeting Mircea's worried eyes.

"You what?" Mircea asked in disbelief. His heart felt like it was ready to soar, but he wanted to hear her say it again.

"I ended things with him. I'm not his girlfriend anymore. It's over," she repeated, and Mircea had to fight the smile that wanted to erupt on his face.

"Was that before or after he nearly beat you to death?" he growled.

"After. Once I told him that, he backed off and tried to salvage things, but it was too late. Mircea, I feel so free now. I'm finally rid of that awful relationship!" Iona said. Her eyes were beginning to regain their sparkle, and that more than anything made Mircea smile brightly. He threw one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Freedom is good, but won't you get lonely?" he said.

"Not in the least. I have the crew! I have you. It's hard to be lonely when your best friend is always a few feet away," she laughed, lightly punching his side.

"Good point, and we're supposed to be getting even more new members of our family!" Mircea said.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Iona said, looking at him quizzically.

"Well, you know how our crew is joining up with Antonio's and Francis'?"

"Yes...And?"

"They met with Kirkland earlier and offered him the option of joining. He said no, but I think he's going to change his mind."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Daniel may or may not have name dropped you..."

"How much you going to bet me?"

"My eternal love and friendship?"

"Good enough," Iona smirked, poking Mircea in the side. This earned a yelp from the Romanian, who responded in kind by grabbing one of Iona's feet and running a finger up the bottom of it. Soon enough, the two had dissolved into a pile of giggles and yelps, all traces of tears gone.

Finally, they heard a knock on the door joining Iona's room to the central living area.

"Hey, you two, remember, we do have somewhere to be tomorrow. Mircea, if you're spending the night, I suggest you go ahead and find yourself a place to sleep!" Mathias called.

Iona leapt up and ran over to her bag, grabbing a nightgown before ducking into the bathroom.

Mircea removed his favourite red coat, his shirt, and his shoes, and climbed under the covers.

"Oh no, you are not sleeping in here," Iona said, standing over him.

"But, but, but, I want to!" he cried.

Iona placed both hands on her hips and thought for a moment. Mircea gave her his best kicked-puppy look.

"Oh, alright, but only if you promise not to hog the covers!" she finally said. Mircea shifted over, allowing the redhead to join him under the covers.

"I hope you know that this is a one time thing," Iona hissed as she curled up next to him.

"As you wish," Mircea said, throwing an arm across her midsection and pulling her close.

Iona reached up and snapped her fingers, extinguishing all of the lights in the room.

"Show off," Mircea teased, smiling contently as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Goodnight, Mir," Iona whispered.

"Goodnight, Iona."


	15. Chapter 15: Pure as a Wedding Dress

**Berlin, Germany—March 7th, 1890—12:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"You left the message at the Honigmond, right, Mister Anan?" Arthur said irritably.

"You betcha! I even followed the lady behind the desk up to the room and watched as she gave the message to this tall blond guy with a funny hairstyle, just to be sure!" Sadik said proudly.

"Good. I'm sure they'll contact us within the hour. Now then, go find me something else to wear. I very well can't be walking around Berlin looking like a pirate," Arthur sniffed. The engineer nodded and hurried off.

"So we're really joining up with them?" Lukas asked, idly drumming his fingers on the table.

"It would seem so. I'm not particularly happy about it either, but it's a necessary evil," Arthur replied, taking a long sip of tea. His head was pounding and everything seemed to be getting on his nerves.

"Do we even know who's on those crews?" Emil added, looking from his older brother to the captain with masked curiosity.

"We know a handful, but I suppose we'll be finding out the rest of them tonight," Lukas said. Emil let out a grunt and buried his head in his arms on the table.

Arthur looked around at his crew. They were a very sorry sight to see. Even Stefan, who was usually a ball of sunshine and singing, looked like he was about to pass out where he stood without even having said a single word the entire day. They needed a morale booster something bad.

"Hey, Artie, you okay there? You're kinda staring off into space," Amelia said, waving a hand in front of Arthur's face. Arthur snapped back to reality and blinked a few times, feeling his face turn a little red.

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just thinking," he said. Amelia plopped down into a chair next to him, staring at him with wide blue eyes.

"Thinking about how we're gonna totally save the day and crush those Commies without the help of those other three losers? Cause, you know, I am the hero and I've got a plan!" Amelia said, nearly yelling in Arthur's ear.

"Amelia, could you please bring your voice down a little? My head already hurts," Arthur sighed.

"Sorry," she squeaked, shrinking back in her chair a bit.

"That's quite alright, just be mindful."

"So are you thinking up some grand plan, or do you wanna hear mine? I'm not gonna brag or anything, but it's pretty great," Amelia said with a sly grin.

"No, Amelia, I'm neither thinking up any sort of 'grand plan,' nor do I wish to hear whatever wild scheme you've got."

"But—"

"No, Amelia. Those three idiots have extended the olive branch, and by God, we can't afford to reject it or betray it in any way right now. The only way anyone's going to get any sort of revenge on the Russians is by working together, much as it pains me to say so," Arthur huffed.

"Captain, not to quote your least favourite Shakespeare play, but, 'by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,'" Lukas broke in, pointing towards the door. Arthur felt his stomach drop as he saw just who approached.

Iona hadn't changed much in the five years since he'd seen her, though she now sported claw marks down her left cheek, and her hair was a little bit longer. She still walked with a regality she'd inherited from their mother, and Arthur could see the tempest of emotions swirling in her light eyes. She was accompanied by a smiling young man who matched Sadik's description of the man who'd received the message at the hotel.

"Excuse me, but I'm looking for an Arthur Kirkland. He's about this tall," she said to Kiku, indicating Arthur's approximate height with her hand, "and he has scraggly blond hair and God-awful eyebrows. Do you know where I might find him?"

Kiku shot a glance towards Arthur.

"I do believe you're looking for me, Miss," Arthur said in his most gentlemanly manner, though anger boiled just under the surface.

"Oh, let me have a look at you, Artie-lad," she drawled in her Scottish burr. She gave him a close-lipped smile akin to what their mother used to give him when she thought he was being cute.

"Sod off, Miss. I have no idea who you are, and my name is Arthur, not 'Artie,'" Arthur growled. Iona looked hurt for a split second, but quickly gathered herself back up.

"Don't be like that, Arthur. C'mere and give your dear big sister a hug," Iona said, opening her arms. Arthur stepped forward as if to accept her embrace.

"_Pruina_," he whispered. A long shard of ice appeared in his hand, and he jumped back, pointing it at his sister.

"What are you doing here, Iona?" he said, holding the tip of the ice to the young woman's throat.

"I'm gone for five bloody years and I come back to find you a complete hardass? Please tell me that this is not how you usually behave, Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland," Iona huffed.

"I won't even dignify that with an actual response, Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie," Arthur spat. "But really, why the bloody hell are you here? You have thirty seconds to state your business before I hex you." He continued to hold the piece of ice to her throat.

"I came to give you a message, _**Arthur**_, from Captains Bonnefoy, Beilschmidt, and Carriedo. Come to the Aerodrome at 23:50. We choose a ship, and set off for Russia tonight," Iona hissed, grabbing the piece of ice in one hand. Her eyes briefly turned silver, and the icicle melted. "Oh, and Arthur, dear? Bring your entire crew. You won't be returning to the inn."

She and the blond man left, leaving Arthur speechless and a little confused.

"Well, you heard the witch, go pack up your stuff. We leave tonight," Arthur said.

Amelia walked up to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Arthur, calm down. You're shaking," she said, looking him in the eye.

"After all these years...five bloody years, and now she decides to show her face just to give me a message," Arthur said to no one in particular. Rather than ceasing, his shaking got worse, and Amelia almost worried that his legs were going to give out. She enveloped him in a hug, stroking his hair.

"Arthur, breathe. You need to breathe. Shhhh," she soothed.

"What did I do to deserve such a punishment?" Arthur sighed, standing up straight and fixing his shirt. Amelia looked at him with worried eyes.

"Maybe it's not a punishment. Maybe it's a second chance," she said, giving him a small smile.

"Bollocks. Anyway, I need to go prepare. Will you accompany me to my bedroom, Miss Jones?"

Arthur watched as Amelia turned a vivd red, floundering for words before recovering.

"Duh! Of course I'll help you pack! I mean who wouldn't want to have me around?" she exclaimed.

"Don't get into too much trouble, you crazy kids!" Sadik yelled with a suggestive grin.

Amelia's face got even darker, and Arthur shot the engineer a look that would freeze hell two times over.

**March 7th, 1890—20:00**

**Amelia F. Jones**

Amelia lounged around on the large king bed, watching with an amused expression as Arthur pack up the items he had salvaged from the ship. She found herself feeling thankful that she hadn't had many possessions on _The English Rose_ and therefore hadn't had to carry around very much.

"Amelia, could you be a dear and pass me that hat?" Arthur said, not bothering to look at the American woman. Amelia grabbed his captain's hat and threw it at him.

"How in the world did you manage to save all this stuff? Given what you've told me about your life before piracy—"

"I'm not a pirate. I'm a privateer."

"Okay, privateer, whatever. What I'm trying to say is that it doesn't make any sense that you have all of this crap. What is all of it?" Amelia said.

"Mementoes. I try to keep something from every raid or battle I've won."

"Yeah, but how did you manage to grab it all before we evacuated?"

"I kept it in a central location. When you have as many enemies as I do, you learn to keep your valuables in a place you can easily access if you have to abandon ship," Arthur sniffed. Amelia rolled over onto her back, keeping her head turned towards Arthur.

"So if these are from all your travels...where'd you get that?" she said, nodding to a gold cross with a loop on top.

"You mean the ankh?" Arthur said with a tone of disdain.

"Yeah, that thing."

"I got it from a den of thieves in Egypt. They tried to bring down my ship, so I staged a small rebellion within the group by spreading rumours. I didn't even have to get my hands dirty; they did it for me," Arthur said, picking up the ankh and turning it over in his hand.

"Huh. That's cool. What about this thing?" Amelia said, grabbing a bronze globe with small sections of etched glass.

"Careful with that, Amelia. That's an old Vietnamese magic man's spirit ball. It is said that it holds the angry spirits of the magic man's enemies, and if you break one of the glass sections, you unleash those spirits upon the world."

Amelia's eyebrows shot up, and she carefully set the globe back down on a nearby pillow.

"I'm not sure I want to know how you managed to get your hands on that," she said. Arthur chuckled a little. They continued the pattern of Amelia picking things and asking Arthur about them for an hour, laughing about all of Arthur's wild adventures as a privateer and the sorts of hijinks he had gotten up to in the past three years.

Finally, Arthur packed the last of his souvenirs into a bag with a satisfied grunt and a smile.

"There we go. Everything's all ready," he said, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the edge.

"Hey, Arthur?" Amelia said.

"Yes?"

"What's the best thing you've ever picked up on your travels, and I mean the absolute greatest thing that, now that you have, you couldn't live without?" Amelia asked, looking up at Arthur with sparkling blue eyes. The Englishman sat and thought for many moments, occasionally staring at the large box in which all of his things were packed before looking down at Amelia.

"There are lots of things that I could say, honestly. It changes from week to week. Some days, I think it's the ring I stole from a castle in the Highlands of Scotland. Other times, I'm nearly convinced that it's the crown of a Chinese emperor I won in a duel. It all depends upon when you ask me," Arthur replied gently, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a shy grin.

"What is it right now?" Amelia said, blowing a blonde curl from her face.

_You_, Arthur thought, but quickly shook the idea away.

"The rose that gave my ship its name," he said, pointing to a flower sitting in a vase on the windowsill. Its petals were a deeper red than any other rose Amelia had ever seen, and it almost seemed to glow with an ethereal light in the afternoon sunlight.

"How is that thing still alive? You've had your ship for what, like, three years?" Amelia said in disbelief.

Arthur laughed quietly. "Would you believe me if I told you it was enchanted?"

"Like, with magic?"

"Yes, with magic."

"How'd you convince some wizard to do that for you?"

"Because I'm the wizard that did it."

"Wait...you mean you have magic?" Amelia gasped, her eyes wide.

"Yes. It runs on both sides of my family. All six of us kids showed the trait from a very early age. Did you not see that exchange with my sister earlier? Or have you never seen the odd things that used to lie around the ship? I thought it was pretty clear that there were two wizards onboard," Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh...I guess I never looked closely enough."

"That's quite alright, Amelia, dear."

"What I want to know is why? Why'd you keep some random flower?"

Arthur thought for a moment.

"You know how you had asked me about reminders of my family?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"That rose has actually been in bloom since 1885. Call me morbid, but it was part of the funerary decorations at my parents' funeral. My brother, Sean, plucked it from one of the wreathes for me when nobody was looking, because, at the time, he was teaching me various spells to keep things 'eternally beautiful,' as he often told me. I brought it with me to the Academy—" he started.

"And you named your ship after it," Amelia finished, reaching up to touch Arthur's cheek, letting her slightly tanned hand rest there for a moment. Arthur leaned into her touch and covered her hand with his own.

"Yes, I named my ship after it. My parents weren't always the best, but they were still my parents. They put up with me and my five siblings for all those years, after all," Arthur laughed sadly.

Amelia sat up suddenly, locking eyes with the green-eyed Brit.

"Did you manage to save the journal with all of those letters and photographs?" she asked urgently.

Arthur stared at her for a moment, looking faintly puzzled.

"Yes, but how did you—"

"The other day, when I woke up in your room, I, well, I got curious and sort of started snooping around. I swear I didn't break anything!"

Arthur's smile returned, making Amelia's heart soar a little.

"No need to be sorry, Love. I suppose I've already told you most of what you could glean from those silly pieces of paper."

"Wait...did you just call me—" Amelia wasn't able to finish her sentence because just at that moment, Arthur closed the gap between them and quieted her with his lips against hers. At first, Amelia had no idea how to react. She'd never been kissed before, and the unbridled passion and emotion behind Arthur's kiss was almost overwhelming to the point that Amelia's brain simply shut off. After a few moments' hesitation, she eagerly responded, kissing him back with just as much fervor. The feeling of his lips on hers sent a flurry of excitement through the young woman's veins, and the way he tangled his fingers in her golden curls drove her, as Arthur would put it, 'pure dead batty.'

Six months of pent-up feelings and attraction all seemed to erupt in the span of five minutes, and before either of them knew what was happening, Arthur had pushed Amelia back onto the bed. Suddenly, even her midriff-baring shirt and short, tight skirt felt like too much clothing, and all of his captain's garb especially agitated the American.

"My God, Amelia, you don't know how long I've been wanting to do that," Arthur sighed, breathing heavily as he looked down at her.

"Couldn't have put it better myself, Artie," Amelia giggled, threading her hands through his wild mop of hair.

"I'm not sure, but I may actually be falling for you," the Englishman said with a hopeful look. Amelia grinned widely, and her heart felt as though it would burst from her chest.

"Funny, because I was just thinking the same thing," she whispered. Arthur smiled and took this as his cue to kiss her again.

The two of them made a mad scramble to remove every piece of clothing that separated their bodies, and before long, the saw each other plain.

"Bloody hell, Amy," Arthur gasped, "you're beautiful." His eyes raked over her long, slender form. A light blush dusted the young woman's cheeks.

Amelia let her hands roam free over Arthur's body, leaving no ounce of pale skin untouched. She could feel the desire building in her, something which she made very clearly known.

They moved together, so intertwined that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began, and, Amelia thought, it was everything she'd always dreamed it would be.

When they both collapsed, exhausted but fulfilled and ecstatic, it seemed as though the entire world stopped, and it was just the two of them.

Amelia's midsection hurt from the strenuous activity pulling at her stitches, but she honestly didn't care because she was much too happy.

They lay there for what seemed like an eternity, still trying to wrap their minds around what had just occurred. In the meantime, the light outside changed, going from

"So...does this mean—" Amelia asked, her breathing still uneven.

"Absolutely, my dear," Arthur replied, pulling her even closer to him.

A knock on the door broke them from their reverie.

"Captain Kirkland," came a small voice. They heard the doorknob turn.

"Don't open the door just yet, Stefan. What do you need?" Arthur said, sitting up and grabbing his pants from the floor.

"Mister Kiku said that it's almost time to head over to the Aerodrome if we want to be completely on time," Stefan said. Amelia glanced at the clock and nearly fell out of the bed. It was already 21:30.

"Is the rest of the crew all packed up and ready?" Arthur said, the commanding edge returning to his voice.

"Yes sir! We're just waiting on you and Miss Amelia!"

"We'll be down in a few moments. Miss Jones just needed some help with her own baggage."

"Okay! See you downstairs, Captain!"

They listened as Stefan ran back down the stairs of the inn, and both released a breath they hadn't meant to hold.

"He's adorable, Artie. Where in the world did you find a kid like him?" Amelia said, putting on her own clothing.

"Bucharest. He was an orphan living on ships docked at the Aerodrome there, along with Mister Anan, and I caught Stefan trying to sneak onto the _Rose_. I asked him what in the world he was doing and he directed me to Sadik, and—"

"A lot of your crew members seem to be people you caught sneaking into various places of importance," Amelia interrupted, earning a half-hearted glare form her companion.

"As I was saying, when I asked him what he was doing and who he was, he told me that he needed a place to live because his older brother, Mircea, had recently left him with Sadik when Mircea joined Beilschmidt's crew in hopes of providing for the child, so I did the logical thing and asked him to be my cabin boy while asking Sadik to be my engineer."

"Well, he's freaking adorable. When I get married, if I get married, I want a kid like him," Amelia cooed.

"It's a little early to be thinking of that," he said, walking over to her and placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Well, we should probably take this stuff downstairs and get going. If your little scuffle with your sister earlier was any indication, I think we're going to want to be as prompt and well-mannered as possible with these guys," Amelia said, wrapping her arms around Arthur's waist.

**Berlin Aerodrome—March 7th, 1890—23:30**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"There's our favourite grumpy _Anglais_," Francis called as he saw Arthur and the crew of _The English Rose_ enter the aerodrome.

"Glad that you could make it, _amigo_," Antonio said cheerily, though it was obvious from his red-rimmed eyes that he'd been either drinking or crying recently, perhaps even both.

"_Ja, willkommen_," Gilbert mumbled, though he certainly did not seem pleased at the thought of Arthur's crew joining his.

"I brought my men, as well as my girlfriend, so where are your rag-tag crews?" Arthur taunted, noting the distinct lack of anyone behind the three other captains.

"They're off looking for a ship big enough for all of us. Believe it or not, that's not particularly easy to come by," Francis replied with a sniff.

"Plus, Iona and Berwald are off getting Vash from the hospital," Antonio added.

Arthur twitched a little at the mention of his sister's name.

"So she really is a pirate..." he muttered.

"What can we do to help y'all?" Amelia said, stepping up from behind Arthur. The trio looked her up and down once, wondering if this was the girlfriend of whom Arthur had spoken.

"Stand guard, make sure no one except those with a bracelet like this," Gilbert said, holding up his pale wrist to show off a small band of red leather, "comes in."

"You heard the demon," Arthur barked, calling his men to attention, "Sadik and Emil, you two will be at the entrance to the drome. Jack and Tino, guard the radio room to ensure that no unwanted calls go out. Lukas, you and Stefan will be with me, while Kiku and Amelia will assist these three idiots."

Arthur couldn't help but admire how well-trained his crew was, because they immediately separated into the groups he had just told them, and scurried off to their posts.

"When are Iona and Berwald expected to return?" Gilbert said, practically spitting Iona's name.

"Any moment now, _mon petit albinos en colère_," Francis said with a grin.

"Guys! I think I might have found us a good ship! And it's brand-spanking new!" Mathias yelled, running up to the group. He had a large smile, though he was breathing heavily from excitement.

"Really? Where is it?" Gilbert said, cocking an eyebrow.

"It's way at the back, where they keep all of the new ships. It looks like it's just been furnished and everything! Doesn't even have a name yet!"

"Lead on, Mathias!" Antonio cheered. It was then that Arthur noticed an Italian girl behind the Spaniard. He realised with a start that he'd seen the girl's picture before.

"Wait a second, Carriedo. Your little broad there, she wouldn't happen to be one of the Vargas girls, would she?" Arthur said. Antonio froze.

"_Si_, I'm Romana Vargas, bastard," the girl snapped.

"I've seen your face on some posters around here. Your grandfather's looking for you, you know, and he's paying anyone who returns his little granddaughters to him a very hefty amount."

Antonio looked stricken, grabbing Romana's hand and tugging.

"Come on! Let's go see this ship," he said nervously.

"Don't mention a word of this to my sister," Romana hissed, glaring at Arthur. She didn't want to risk Feliciana begging her to let them go home in exchange for turning their newfound friends in for piracy, nor did she particularly want to return to being the forgotten child by her grandfather. She allowed herself to be dragged behind Antonio, occasionally smiling at how excited he was about the prospect of a new ship.

The group walked to the very back of the gargantuan aerodrome, the ships they passed continuing to get larger and larger, until they finally came to a magnificent vessel. It was as big as _Der Adler, El Corazón, La Liberté, _and_ The English Rose_ combined, and, just as Mathias had said, completely unnamed. It was the blank slate that all four captains were looking for.

"Mathias, it's perfect!" Gilbert crowed, running a gloved hand along the smooth metal reverently.

"I think we've found ourselves a ship," Francis sighed with a weary smile.

"Indeed we have," Arthur said softly.

"_Perfecto!_" Antonio laughed.

"Oi! Where is everyone?" a female voice yelled from the front of the aerodrome.

"That must be Iona and Berwald now. Our first order of business should be getting Vash onto the ship, then loading everything else," Francis said. He lead the way back to the front.

Iona stood with her hands on her hips, the hem of her long grey skirt muddied, and wisps of hair falling from her braid. Berwald stood a few feet behind her, Vash's unconscious form slung over his shoulder like a rag doll. The Swede was just as haggard-looking.

"What in the world happened to you two?" Mathias asked, sniggering a little.

"Believe it or not, smuggling a patient out of the intensive care unit is not particularly easy, especially at almost midnight," Iona huffed, looking annoyed.

"Well, all that matters is that you've got Vash and you're ready to leave. We've found ourselves a ship. Do you think you can get the message around to everyone else, Iona?" Francis said.

"Aye. Shouldn't be difficult. Where's the ship?" the Scotswoman said.

"At the very back. It's unnamed, but has a bunch of sails, and the entire ship is carved so that it kind of looks like a phoenix or something. You'll know it when you see it," Mathias said. Iona nodded and disappeared into the bowels of the aerodrome before Arthur had a chance to register her presence. He made his way back to the unnamed ship, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into the vessel. It certainly was beautiful, and it filled him with a sense of hope.

Ten minutes passed, and various people of different nationalities trickled into the dock where the ship was stationed at a leisurely pace. Finally, at ten-till midnight, Iona reappeared.

"That's everyone, I believe," she sighed, leaning against the hull for a moment.

"Yao, Ludwig, has everything been loaded?" Antonio called.

"Yes sir! All personal items are in the main entrance area, and supplies have been loaded into the hold! We are ready for flight!" Yao responded, giving the group of captains a thumbs up.

"_Magnifique!_ All aboard!" Francis yelled. He allowed Iona to board ahead of him, and made sure to trip Arthur as the Englishman ascended the ramp.

The ship had already been untethered from the dock, and somehow, by the strange machinations of a certain Bulgarian man, the ceiling of the aerodrome had been opened. The engines fired up, the lights on the ship came on, and, at the very last moment, a new flag was hoisted about the mast, adorned with a rose, a bleeding heart, an eagle, and a sword all centered around a skull and crossbones.

"Where the bloody hell did we get a flag from?" Arthur snapped, pointing up at the banner.

"Romana and Feliciana designed it after we got your message, and Mircea made it with magic!" Antonio exclaimed.

"It's hideous..."

"Mister Køhler, set sail for Edinburgh, Scotland!" Gilbert called as the ship rose into the air.


	16. Chapter 16: Fate Has Smiled

**Somewhere Over the North Sea—March 8th, 1890—06:30**

**Romana Vargas**

Romana wasn't entirely sure why she was awake so damn early. Perhaps it was because she was in an unfamiliar bed. Or maybe, it was due to the fact that she could hear unfamiliar and strangely accented voices outside her door every so often. Whatever the reason, Romana had not slept well at all, and it made her extremely grumpy.

"Might as well go ahead and get dressed," she grumbled, rolling out of bed carefully, so as to not wake her sister.

_How she can sleep so well absolutely amazes me,_ Romana thought. She rummaged through one of the shopping bags filled with clothes from Berlin, and chose a red skirt and cream-coloured blouse, wrapping a deep red shawl around her shoulders.

She crept silently down the hallway of the new ship, trying to find her way to some sort of sitting area or something. From what she had gathered, this ship was built as a new luxury vessel, meant to transport the rich and spoilt for weeks on end as they partied away in the sky. It was outfitted with the latest technology, but also with the latest in weaponry. It felt more like a flying neighbourhood than a simple ship.

"Romana, what are you doing up so early?" a familiar voice behind her said. She spun around and saw Antonio standing a few feet away, dressed in a nightshirt. His mop of brown curls was a mess, and he smiled sleepily at her, as though he weren't entirely sure if this was a dream or not.

"I couldn't sleep, idiot. This ship is too cold and there are too many people and it's too noisy," Romana complained.

"_Pobrecita_! You should've come and found me last night before you went to sleep! I would've given you extra blankets and told everyone to be quiet!" Antonio laughed, rubbing his eyes.

"Why are you awake?" Romana said.

"I always wake up this early. I was going to shower, then have a look around," Antonio replied with a nod towards a nearby door. Romana assumed it was the bathroom, given the context.

"Oh. Do you know where the kitchen is?" she said, folding her arms over her chest. Even with the woolen shawl, she was cold.

"_Sí! _Well, I think I do. If you can wait a few more minutes, we can go together!" Antonio said, smiling widely.

Romana looked at the Spaniard thoughtfully for a moment. She really wanted food immediately, but the fact that she had no idea where she was going put a damper on her plans. It was too early to be dealing with the happy skippy captain, yet that seemed to be her only choice.

"You have ten minutes," she sighed, barely getting the sentence out before Antonio had dashed back into his bedroom, grabbed some clothing, and dashed down the hall, into the washroom.

Romana paced up and down the hall while she waited, stopping to eavesdrop when she heard voices inside some of the rooms.

"I can't believe we're all together again, Sve! Oh, I've missed you and Mathias so much!" she heard from inside one room, followed by a deep grunt.

"Viktor? Viktor? Pssst, Viktor, I have to go potty. Will you walk with me?" came a small child's voice from another room.

She heard the faintest of songs being sung in one of the rooms at the end of the hall, occasionally broken up by a sniffle. She could only imagine what the hall on the other side of the ship was like.

True to his word, Antonio burst out of the bathroom with thirty seconds to spare, the light from the gaslamps overhead making the water droplets in his hair sparkle.

"Come on, Roma! Let's go find some food before everyone else wakes up!" he cheered, grabbing Romana's hand. The Italian mumbled something about him being a "damn Spanish bastard," but didn't put up much of a fight. They wandered through countless halls and into grand rooms until they finally found a kitchen that looked more like it belonged on some fancy ocean cruise liner than any airship ever. It had already been stocked with food, and even had an ice box, which was also filled.

"All four of us captains stocked this place last night after everyone had gone to sleep to ensure the utmost peace! I even bought some tomatoes and pasta and pizza makings for you, Roma!" Antonio said proudly, puffing out his chest. Romana felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks.

"Don't you go trying to brown nose me, _bastardo_. You're still a dirty pirate, and the only reason I've stuck with you this long is because my _sorella_ doesn't want to leave that kraut-face you call a first mate," Romana huffed.

Antonio laughed, taking Romana's other hand in his so that he now held her full attention. "Oh, Roma! You're so cute when you're grumpy!"

"Yeah, whatever, _stupido_," she grumbled. "Just make me some breakfast, dammit. I'm hungry."

Antonio laughed again, and started digging around in the ice box. He set out some eggs, some ham, a tomato, a red bell pepper, and some cheese.

"Do you think you can get me a frying pan from that cupboard over there? If you can't find it, go check with Gilbert's temporary first mate, Daniel. Guy has some sort of frying pan fetish or something," Antonio said. Romana nodded and searched through the cupboard, resurfacing with a shiny new frying pan.

Antonio set about cooking, humming as he worked, and occasionally throwing pieces of ham at Romana for the girl to catch in her mouth. Soon, the smell of frying eggs filled the room and wafted upstairs to the living deck.

"Something smells amazing," Arthur's radioman, Emil, said from the doorway, yawning and stretching. His silver-white hair was even more tousled than usual, and his pyjamas were wrinkled, as though he had spent the night tossing and turning.

"¡_Buenas mañanas_!" Antonio called, looking up from his cooking.

"Uhmmm...Good morning?" the boy said, looking at Romana and Antonio blearily.

"What do you want on your omelette?" Antonio asked. Emil looked vaguely uncomfortable.

_Trust me, kid, I know how you feel, _Romana thought.

"Just coffee for me, thanks," Emil said, walking over to the French press and dumping a gratuitous amount of coffee into it.

"Suit yourself, _amigo_!" Antonio said. Emil grunted and continued making his coffee.

A little while later, Emil's older brother and Arthur's magician, Lukas, entered the room looking just as bleary-eyed and mussed as his sibling.

"Don't even wish me a good morning until I have my coffee," he growled, making a beeline for the spot Emil had vacated in front of the press.

If Romana had thought that Emil's mug of coffee was big, she wasn't sure how to categorise Lukas' helping.

The two brothers sat at the large table in silence, sipping at their respective mugs of coffee and looking around the kitchen.

"Where's Captain Kirkland? Isn't he usually the first one up?" Emil finally asked, draining the last of his drink.

"Last I heard, he and Miss Amelia were already up and...talking. He'll probably be down in a little while, Emil," Lukas replied, standing up to pour himself a third cup of coffee.

"Oh, good, my brother's found himself a nice lass. Guess I didn't completely screw the little shit up," Iona smirked as she glided into the kitchen, her pink silk robe and its long sleeves trailing behind her. She, especially, looked like someone who'd recently been in a fight, and Romana wondered how she could've missed the claw marks on the left side of the Scotswoman's face.

"Good morning, Iona! Would you like an omelette?" Antonio called. Iona turned and smiled at him, wincing faintly as the claw marks shrunk.

"That would be lovely, Captain Carriedo," she said politely. She walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a kettle, filling it with water.

"Oh, Embra, do you need to use the stove?" Antonio said.

"No, I'm fine," Iona said, waving her hand over the kettle, "but I would like everything in my omelette, please."

The kettle began whistling and Iona poured the scalding water into a cup before dropping two tea bags into it. She waved her hand over the kettle again, and it stopped steaming.

Antonio made quick work of Iona's breakfast, handing her the plate as she walked over to the table, staying as far away from Lukas as possible.

"Hey, _deficiente_," Romana said, standing up and pushing in her chair, "I'm going to go see if my sister's awake yet. Don't burn anything."

"Okay! Come back quickly!" Antonio said with a grin.

Romana went up the stairs and through the entrance area to the hall where her room was.

When she arrived at the room she was sharing with her sister, she found it empty and even messier than it had been when she'd woken up.

"Feliciana? _Dove sei?_" she called, walking down the hall.

When a search through both bedroom halls yielded nothing, Romana decided she would check the third floor of the ship where she figured all of the important rooms like the bridge were.

To her surprise, the third floor was just one long sitting room filled with couches and tables and large round windows. A beautiful crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, reminding Romana of her grandfather's beautiful mansion back in Venice. A pang of homesickness struck her, and the Italian girl had to momentarily sit down on one of the plush couches until she had regathered herself.

"Damn luxury ship has too many floors," she mumbled.

She quickly ascended the stairs to the fourth floor, a large floor ringed by cannons sticking out all around the entire ship. In the center was a large column with a door and some buttons at the bottom. Romana walked over and pressed the top button, and the door emitted a small bell tone before opening.

"It's an elevator," she whispered to herself. She pressed the big round button that read, "5," and almost lost her balance when the elevator started moving. A few seconds later, the door chimed again and opened into a vast room that took up the entire fifth deck. It was filled with chairs and tables with small screens on them, and at the front of the room was a steering wheel. Arthur Kirkland's navigator, Jack, stood at the wheel, looking out the giant windows which took up the entire wall.

From behind her, Romana heard a high-pitched giggle that she would recognise anywhere. She wheeled around and found Feliciana curled up against Ludwig's side as the German man sorted through a stack of papers, looking incredibly awkward and uncomfortable with the amount of physical contact.

"Feli! There you are!" Romana called, startling the pair. Ludwig turned a brilliant red and Feliciana jumped up, fearing one of her sister's scoldings.

"_Ve_, sorry _sorella_, I was on my way down to breakfast when I ran into Ludwig and decided I would help him with all of his official work!" Feliciana chirped. Romana rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, well, the Spanish bastard is making omelettes if you want one," Romana sighed, waving her sister off. Feliciana trotted back over to Ludwig's side, almost tripping over her skirt in the process. Ludwig deftly caught her and placed her on the seat next to him delicately.

"Okay! We'll be down later, unless we reach Scotland before then!" Feliciana said, nuzzling Ludwig's arm with her head.

"We should be there within the next six hours, miss, but remember, it's just a quick stop to refuel and make sure everything's completely set and armed for the journey to St. Petersburg!" Jack called from the helm.

"We hope," Ludwig mumbled darkly. He set down the last stack of papers and leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms above his head. Feliciana took that moment to lean up against his chest so that when he brought his arms down, one well-muscled arm rested around her small shoulders. Romana was almost certain that the young man was going to have a heart attack right then and there.

"Whatever. I'm gonna go read in the kitchen," the older Italian girl huffed.

**Somewhere Over Southern England—March 8th, 1890—09:45**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

"Okay, so how are we going to divide up the work?" Gilbert sighed, looking around at the seven other people in the conference room they'd found. It was a weird feeling with all four captains sitting in the same room peacefully along with their first mates, but Gilbert wasn't going to argue with it, not when they had more important things to worry about.

"I believe I should be captain," Francis said with a wink. Vash, who had finally woken up and felt well enough to be wheeled around in a wheelchair, glared at his captain, torn between wanting to shoot him and wanting to simply ignore the Frenchman.

"Why the bloody hell would we ever choose you to be captain of this entire ship?" Arthur snapped.

"Because I'm the most attractive, obviously," Francis replied.

"This is not a beauty contest, Francy-pants. We're not choosing you to be captain," Gilbert said, sounding fairly annoyed.

"Well, we won't be able to come to a consensus on it, because we're all going to vote for ourselves, as will our first mates," Francis quipped.

"Why not all four of you are captain, and you just rotate?" Daniel suggested.

"Or it could be an oligarchy, so all four of you are captains and make decisions together," Kiku added. The four captains thought about it for a moment.

"Maybe it could work," Gilbert said, "but I would be the leader of the leaders because I'm obviously the best!"

"No, you're not, so sit down," Daniel hissed, pulling Gilbert down.

"You're just jealous of my awesomeness," the Prussian sniffed, sticking his tongue out at the Hungarian man.

"For the time being, let's just go with Kiku's idea. Now, we can't have four first mates because that would get wickedly confusing. It's already going to be strange enough with four captains, and I'm not sure if we want to have that many people in the chain of command, so we will need to choose one person," Arthur said, gesturing to the first mates.

"Who would you suggest, Kirkland?" Gilbert said, sparing a glance at Kiku.

"I was actually thinking Ludwig," the Brit said.

"No, I'd rather not have that much responsibility," Ludwig said. He already had enough on his plate between dealing with his air-headed captain and his growing feelings for Feliciana, and he didn't need anymore complications.

"Hmmm...then who should we choose?" Antonio said, looking around at the other three candidates. All of them shook their heads and gave excuses for why they would not be good choices. Nobody really wanted to be first mate for the entire ship. Too many conflicting personalities to contend with, and everyone had other things to worry about. Daniel swore that, if given the chance to be in a real position of power rather than a temporary one, he would most likely have Mircea thrown off the side of the ship. Vash claimed that he was still in no shape physically to be doing anything more than practicing with his sniper guns. Ludwig simply glared at them, and Gilbert understood his brother well enough to not press the subject any further, while Kiku said that he was much too quiet and passive for him to be considered an authority by anyone other than the crew of _The English Rose_.

"Is there anyone onboard this bloody ship who would be willing to take the position?" Arthur growled.

"Well, I have one suggestion, but I'm not sure that two out of four of you are going to like it," Daniel replied, cowering under Arthur's icy gaze.

"Go on..." Gilbert huffed.

"I was thinking that maybe Iona could do it. She's been a first mate longer than any of us have, and she has experience in dealing with all sorts of crew members. I mean, she managed to hold us together for five years without letting most of us know who she really was, and that's gotta count for something, even if two of you kind of hate her right now," Daniel said sheepishly. Arthur nearly choked on his scone and Gilbert's face turned an angry colour.

"Absolutely not!" both men yelled.

"Hold on a moment, _mes amis_. Perhaps Daniel here has a point. We need someone who can command the respect of the crew members and who knows what they're doing, and Iona does have a fairly formidable personality. However, here's a suggestion: how about Iona as first mate, and have a second mate who can deal with those of us who are on bad terms with _Mademoiselle_ Mackenzie? That way, you only have to interact with the mate you wish to interact with," Francis said, his smile giving way to a much more serious expression.

"That could work," Arthur said pensively.

"Who should be the other?" Antonio asked.

"How about Berwald?" Gilbert replied.

"He'd certainly intimidate everyone into obeying," Arthur laughed bitterly.

"That sounds fine. Daniel, will you go get Iona and Berwald?" Gilbert sighed, not looking forward to seeing the Scotswoman.

Daniel got up and left the room, returning ten minutes later with the two individuals in question.

"Wh't do ya need, _Kaptener_?" Berwald said. Iona sat in a chair near the window scowling, the morning sunlight highlighting the scratches on her face and arms.

"Mister Oxenstierna, Miss Mackenzie, we have a proposition for you two," Gilbert said cordially. His red eyes locked on Iona, staring her down until she looked up to face the rest of the room.

"And what would that be?" she purred, narrowing her grey eyes at the albino in return.

"We've discussed the hierarchy onboard the ship, and have decided that all four of us will be captains with equal power," Francis said.

"And what does this have to do with us?" Iona said, nodding to Berwald.

"Well, because of some of the...dynamics that exist between certain people here," Francis began with a look at Arthur and Gilbert, "we have come to the agreement that there will be two first mates, and—"

"And you chose me and Berwald," Iona said, finishing Francis' sentence with a smirk.

"Exactly! We will make this announcement to the crew when we land in Edinburgh, but we figured it would be best to tell you two beforehand," Antonio chirped.

Iona sat and thought for a few minutes, delighting in the angry looks she received from both her brother and ex-boyfriend.

"Well, say something, _verdammt_," Gilbert snapped. Iona gave him a cat-like grin while Berwald stared at a fixed point above Gilbert's head.

"S'nds good t' me," the Swede said, nodding.

"Aye. Don't see any problem with it," Iona added. "Is that all, or do you want me to sit here and let the rage in this room build up?"

"I'd suggest you leave, _ma cherie_," Francis said with a kind smile, though his eyes held a warning meant only for the Scotswoman. She took the hint and left, closing the door gently on her way out.

"So it's settled then. Now what?" Antonio said, looking around.

"I need a brandy or something. I do hope this ship is well stocked with alcohol," Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

"But it's only 10:15 in the morning, Arthur-san!" Kiku said, looking at his captain in shock.

"Bollocks. It's never too early for a drink when you have to put up with some of these misfits," Arthur spat.

"For once, I agree with you, _mein_ _freund_," Gilbert said.

"Do I want to know what my darling sister did to you?" Arthur said.

"That's another story for another day," Gilbert growled.

**Edinburgh, Scotland—March 8th, 1890—23:00**

**Stefan Zeltser-Bălan**

Stefan did not like the new ship. He felt completely lost, and it reminded him of the first few days after Mircea had left him with Uncle Sadik. He especially did not like how everyone else had disappeared into lots of different parts of the ship, and no one was around to stay with him or take him to bed, particularly when it was so long past his bedtime.

"Viktor? Captain? Sadik? Where are you guys?" he cried, tears springing to his large red-brown eyes. He didn't hear anyone coming, making him feel even more alone. After a few minutes more of calling out for someone, the little boy sat down and cried.

He spent ten minutes on the floor, wailing and crying in a heap in the middle of the hallway.

"Where is everyone? I don't like it here!" he wailed, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Hey, there, kid, what's wrong?" a voice behind him called. The accent was extremely familiar, and Stefan almost couldn't believe he was hearing it. He sniffled, wiping away his tears with the overly-long sleeve of his coat.

"Kid, you deaf?" the voice said again. Stefan heard two sets of footsteps quickly approaching and looked over his shoulder. "What's wrong? Do you have any family on here?"

"_Totul e înfricoșător și singur aici!_" Stefan cried in fluent Romanian. The footsteps stopped.

"_Ce aţi spus?_" one of the strangers gasped, also in Romanian. At this point, Stefan stood up and turned around, his eyes widening.

"M-Mircea?" Stefan stammered. The man speaking to him took a step towards the little boy, followed by the young woman he'd walked in with.

"Stefan?" the man cried, a fanged smile lighting up his face.

Stefan couldn't help himself. He ran at full speed into the man's arms, knocking his brother backwards into the young woman, before both boys fell to the ground in a heap of laughs, tears, and hugs.

"Oh my God, Stefan! It's you! It's really, truly you!" Mircea gasped, hugging his little brother tightly. It had been too long since he'd seen the child, and suddenly, his world felt a little more complete. Tears of joy formed in his brilliant red eyes, mirroring Stefan's own happy tears at finally seeing his brother again. The lady behind Mircea smiled kindly, though she was careful not to interfere with the reunion.

Mircea let go of Stefan long enough for them both to stand, but quickly picked the boy back up.

"Big brother! I've missed you so much!" the little boy exclaimed. He'd only been two when his brother had left four years ago, but two was certainly old enough to remember how close the two of them were.

"One question, though, Stef...What the heck are you doing on a pirate ship? They haven't done anything to you, right? Were you kidnapped? Sold as a slave? Used as some sort of weird bargaining chip in a game of poker? You're not hurt, are you? Nobody's touched you inappropriately, have they? Cause if they have, well, I might have to go kill someone," Mircea said.

"Uncle Sadik brought me with him when he joined last year. It was a little scary at first, but everybody's been really nice to me, especially Captain Kirkland!" Stefan said. Mircea looked at him with a raised eyebrow for a moment and shrugged.

"Okay...if you say so," he said.

"Mircea, are you going to introduce me to this adorable _wee_ _yin_?" the young woman said after ten minutes. Stefan recognised her as the girl he'd seen with his brother on the night of the attack, and wondered what she was to his brother, as well as how she'd gotten those claw marks on her face.

"Oh! Right! Stefan, I want you to meet Miss Iona Mackenzie. Iona, this is my baby brother, Stefan!" Mircea said, turning Stefan in his arms so that the boy could see Iona better.

"_Salut_, Miss Iona!" Stefan chirped, giving the young woman a big smile identical to Mircea's.

"Hullo there, Stefan. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said warmly.

"Are you my brother's wife?" Stefan asked innocently, noticing how close Mircea stood to her once he had set the boy down.

Iona turned red, and Mircea looked horrified.

"I'm afraid not," Iona replied, laughing a little. Stefan decided that he liked Miss Iona, if only because she seemed to make Mircea smile, and she had a funny accent.

"Then are you his girlfriend? Because I want you to be my big sister!" Stefan said, hugging Iona's legs.

"I'm Mir's best friend, but I'd be happy to be your big sister as well," Iona said, reaching down and picking Stefan up.

"Okay! We can be a family!" Stefan cried, throwing his arms around Iona's neck.

Mircea smiled at the two of them, happy beyond words that the two most important human beings in his entire world had finally come together. However, that didn't mean that he wasn't still haunted by the guilt of leaving his brother behind.

_Bucharest, Romania—Four and a Half Years Previous_

_Alexandru Mircea Bălan_

"_Please, money for a poor young man and his baby brother?" Mircea croaked, his throat parched from standing in the hot sun all day with no water. His two year old half-brother, Stefan, sat behind him in the shade, watching as the older boy tried to get them enough money to survive. Things simply hadn't been the same since Viktor left, and Mircea was seriously beginning to regret not joining his friend onboard Antonio Carriedo's ship. _

_He spied a pair of young men walking towards him, both dressed in expensive-looking clothing. One had white hair and red eyes not very different from Mircea's own, while the other had a long mahogany coloured ponytail and the strangest green-grey eyes the Romanian had ever seen. Both of them couldn't have been much older than twenty, and Mircea, at twenty-two, immediately felt superior to the pair. _

"_Stefan, I need you to stay here for a moment, okay?" he said over his shoulder. Stefan nodded, returning to playing with the doll one of the neighbourhood ladies had given him._

_Mircea waited for the strange pair to pass him, and then silently crept behind them, making sure to not lose sight of the white haired man's money bag. _

_If I can just get a few feet closer, I can probably levitate that bag off his belt without him ever noticing, Mircea thought to himself. _

_Suddenly, the redheaded man spun around, almost seeming to stare directly into Mircea's eyes. The Romanian froze._

"_What is it, James?" the albino man said in a distinctly Germanic accent._

"_Nothing, Gilbert. Thought I heard something, but I guess it was just the wind," the other man, James, answered in a rough, but oddly feminine burr. _

"_Well, we are in a marketplace," Gilbert said with a smirk. The pair started walking again, still tailed by Mircea. _

_When the strawberry blond was close enough, he waved his hand and his eyes lit up, focusing on the bag hanging from Gilbert's belt. It softly untied itself and began to float towards him. _

_Just as Mircea was about to reach out and grab it, James spun around again, this time locking eyes with the thief, and the bag dropped to the ground._

"_Gotcha," he purred, walking over to Mircea. _

"_W-what? I didn't do anything," Mircea said innocently, hiding his hands behind his back. James cocked an eyebrow and looked down at the money bag before looking back up at Mircea. _

"_Hey, Captain," James called, waving Gilbert over, "I think I found you that magician you've been wanting."_

"_Really now?" Gilbert said with a sly tone, strutting over to them. _

"_Aye. Just caught this guy trying to steal your treasure without so much as touching you."_

_Gilbert eyed the Romanian man warily._

"_What's your name?" he barked._

"_Mircea."_

"_Well, Mircea, normally, the price for trying to steal from a pirate captain, especially one as awesome as myself, is death, but because of the...skills you've shown, I'll let your little attempted robbery slide," Gilbert said, bringing his face close to Mircea's._

"_Oh thank you! I can't abandon my half-brother, Stefan. He's only two and I'm the only family he's got and—" _

"_Hold on. There's a catch to me letting you live," Gilbert huffed, folding his arms. Mircea blanched. "In return for me letting you live, you have to join my crew and swear your undying loyalty to the Awesome Me."_

"_What? No! That's almost as bad as killing me. What will become of my brother? We weren't left any inheritance because my dad and Stefan's mother died so suddenly, and if I leave, he'll die," Mircea cried. He looked pleadingly at Gilbert, but saw no mercy in the man's eyes. _

"_Too bad. You tried to steal from the wrong pirate, so now you have to pay the price."_

"_Actually, Captain, I have a solution," James chimed in, giving Mircea a kind and knowing smile. _

_Gilbert thought for a moment. "Go on."_

"_Mircea, do you have any friends we could bring your brother to?"_

"_Well, there's my dad's former university roommate, Sadik, but he lives in Turkey," Mircea replied._

"_Perfect! We'll set sail for Turkey," Gilbert crowed, pumping a fist into the air. _

"_Take us to your brother. We leave immediately," James said._

_Mircea didn't remember most of the two day voyage to Turkey, but saying goodbye to his brother without any explanation nearly killed him. His only comfort after leaving Stefan with Uncle Sadik was listening to James, who he learned was actually a young Scotswoman named Iona, tell stories of her own brothers, from whom she had run away five months previously. The pain of abandoning his brother lessened with Iona's help, and Mircea soon learned to enjoy times when the two of them preformed magic together, but sometimes, as he lay in bed at night, he would yearn for the feeling of his brother curled up next to him under the covers, and a few tears would run down his face. _

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

Mircea simply couldn't believe that, after four very long years, he had finally found his brother again. He had his arms around Iona's shoulders, one of Stefan's hands meeting his at the young woman's collarbone. The three of them stood there for what seemed like an eternity, each one unwilling to let go first.

Finally, Stefan gave a large yawn, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Somebody's sleepy," Mircea said, stepping back and looking at his brother and his best friend.

"I'm not," Stefan said, but gave another yawn and rested his head on Iona's shoulder.

"I think you are~" Iona teased, handing the child over to Mircea.

Stefan stared at her for a second. "Okay. I guess I'm a little tired," he said, "but I'm only gonna go to bed if you guys come stay with me in my and Viktor's room!"

Mircea hesitated at the mention of the name Viktor, but recovered quickly, just in time for Iona to smile slyly and say, "I have an even better idea; why don't you come sleep in our room?"

Stefan looked puzzled for a moment. "But I thought you said you guys weren't married...?"

"We're not," Mircea laughed, "Miss Iona just made some very important people angry, so they stuck her in the hold, but I made a deal with them to let her stay with me."

Stefan nodded, his eyes drooping a little.

"'Kay. I still want you to get married, though," he mumbled as the three of them began walking to the other side of the ship.

**23:30**

Mircea couldn't contain his excitement as he crawled into the bed, turning so that he was facing Stefan and Iona who were already fast asleep. Stefan had snuggled up next to Iona and fallen asleep almost immediately while Iona played with the boy's long, scruffy dark hair. The Moldovan child now had two small pigtails sticking straight out either side of his head. Iona had drifted off a little while later, and Mircea envied her ability to put aside emotions of any sort in favour of sleep.

He adjusted the covers and curled up on his brother's other side, throwing an arm around Stefan. Finally, something in him felt complete as he followed the other two into sleep.


	17. Chapter 17: The Past is in the Past

**The Grassmarket, Edinburgh, Scotland—March 11th, 1890—17:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

Amelia decided that she liked Scotland, even if it was a little too cold. The people were friendly once you got to know them, the food was ten times better than anything she had found in England, and the Scots knew how to appreciate a good beer or a glass of whisky after a long day at work.

"Why can't we just stay here in Scotland, Arthur? I don't want to leave," Amelia whined, tugging on Arthur's hand.

"No," Arthur growled, sulking. He'd been doing that ever since they'd left the ship to go shopping for more food, but Amelia had tried to ignore it.

"That's not a real answer, you dummy!" she cried, punching him on the shoulder. "Can we at least go see that castle up there?"

She used her other hand to point at the intimidating-looking Edinburgh Castle sitting on a hill high above them.

"Ugh, if it will make you happy, then yes, we can go see Edinburgh Castle," Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. He did not particularly want to go to the castle, but he wanted to make his girlfriend happy.

"Yay! Thank you, Arthur," Amelia chirped, throwing her arms around Arthur's neck. A few of the shopkeepers' wives stared at them in scandalised horror.

They took their purchases back to the ship and handed them over to Tino, Berwald, and Mathias before heading back into the Old Town and up the giant hill.

"Wow! I can see the entire city from here," Amelia exclaimed, standing on a ledge with her hands on her hips. The wind played with her blonde curls and her long black skirt, and Arthur thought she looked like the subject of some Romantic painting rather than a privateer's girlfriend.

"Yes, yes, Amelia. Now get down before you hurt yourself," Arthur said, holding out his hand for Amelia to take. The American woman leapt down, grabbed Arthur's hand, and dragged him to the entrance of the castle.

She tried to imagine herself living in the giant stone structure centuries ago, perhaps a lady of the court, or even a Scottish princess, dancing through the halls, looking out over the city, and maybe even having a secret rendezvous or two with a stable boy in one of the many hidden places throughout the castle. She twirled and jumped, completely oblivious to Arthur's embarrassed looks.

"Amelia, whatever you do, don't touch anything. The Scots don't particularly like it when you touch their things," Arthur warned when he caught Amelia eyeing a nearby sword. The American woman pouted, but her excitement was only momentarily dampened.

The couple walked around the castle for hours, hands intertwined, and gradually, Arthur's mood began to lighten slightly. Amelia, as obnoxious as he found her sometimes, was exactly what he needed when reminders of his sister seemed to haunt him. He'd been fairly good about avoiding her while on the ship, but here in her favourite city ever, Arthur felt like he couldn't escape from Iona's looming shadow. One day, he'd have to confront her.

"Arthur, look at these rings. Aren't they just beautiful?" Amelia asked when they walked into a small shop in one of the gatehouses, picking up a small silver ring made of Celtic knotwork. She tried it on, delighted when she found that it fit her perfectly.

"It's lovely, Amelia," Arthur said with a smile.

"Can I have it, Artie? Please?" she said, looking at him with large blue eyes.

Arthur hesitated for a moment. "Yes, you may have it," he sighed, pulling out his wallet and handing some money to the shopkeeper.

"You're the best, Artie!" Amelia chirped, holding her hand up to admire her new acquisition. Arthur shook his head and chuckled at his girlfriend's enthusiasm.

**20:00**

They continued touring the castle, occasionally stopping to steal a kiss or all out snog until other visitors to the castle happened upon them.

They finally came back around to the entrance area of the castle, where now only a few groups of people huddled together.

"That was so much fun, Arthur! Thank you so much," Amelia said, planting a kiss on Arthur's cheek.

"It was really nothing, honestly," Arthur said, blushing furiously.

"Captain Kirkland?" a small voice behind them said. Arthur turned around and saw Stefan looking at him, the boy's eyes glittering under the gaslights.

"Well hello there, Stefan. What're you doing here?" Amelia cooed, smiling at the boy.

"Big Brother Mircea and Miss Iona took me around the city today! It was so much fun! I saw lots of cool things and got a kilt and ate lots of caramel shortbread!" Stefan exclaimed. Mircea and Iona came up behind him as he spoke.

"Stefan, I told you not to wander off," Mircea scolded lightly, giving his little brother a warning look.

"Sorry, Mircea, but I found Captain Kirkland and his girlfriend and I wanted to say hi," Stefan said, giving his brother an innocent expression.

Mircea and Amelia both were oblivious to the stare off the Kirkland siblings were having, despite the tension between them being tangible.

"So this is your girlfriend, Arthur?" Iona started, looking Amelia up and down.

"Yes, and I'd appreciate it if you left things at that, Iona," Arthur sniffed.

"I'm only asking a question, Brother-mine. You don't have to be rude," Iona said with a pout.

"Yes ma'am! The name's Amelia F. Jones! You must be Artie's older sister!" Amelia cut in with a wide smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Amelia. I do hope we'll have a chance to get to know each other," Iona said kindly.

Arthur glared at Iona coldly, adding, "No, I doubt you'll get that chance. Now leave."

"Come on, Iona. We should head back to the ship," Mircea suggested, tugging on Iona's arm.

"Listen to your ratty little boyfriend, Iona. I want to enjoy my time in Edinburgh without having to deal with my fly-by-night sister," Arthur said coldly.

"Hey! Who're you calling 'ratty'?" Mircea cried.

"Ouch, Arthur. That hurt," Iona said with a sad look, immediately brightening up as a sudden thought hit her. "Not to be awkward, but have you bedded her yet?"

"Why would you ask such a thing around a lady and a small child? Have you no decency?" Arthur gasped.

"I'm just being a concerned big sister, Artie, and I just want to know if you've popped your cherry."

Arthur turned brilliantly red.

"Yes, but at least I didn't lose my virginity to some red-eyed Prussian demon, after abandoning my orphaned siblings on Christmas morning," he spat defensively.

"Artie, no need to get so scary all of a sudden!" Amelia cried.

"Oh, boo hoo, I decided to live my own life. At least I made my own choices instead of following what I thought my family would approve of," Iona snapped.

Arthur could feel his blood pressure rising with every word Iona said.

"You left us when we needed you," he growled.

"You were about to leave us when we needed you, you twat. I just ripped the bandage off," Iona countered.

"That makes no sense! It doesn't matter though, you still left us!"

"Because I had to."

"No, you didn't, and you're still making absolutely no sense whatsoever. Just shut up, Iona. I don't want to hear your stupid excuses," Arthur hissed.

"But—"

Arthur's patience had worn thin.

"No, Iona."

"Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland, you listen to me!"

"Not if you're going to try to tell me you were justified in leaving us!"

"Too bad, because that's exactly what I'd like to do."

Arthur couldn't control himself anymore.

_"Don't do it, Artie-lad,"_ Arthur heard Alistair's voice warn, but he quickly brushed it off.

His bright green eyes lit up and he shot a ball of light at Iona, who just barely dodged it.

"What the hell?" she shrieked.

Arthur sent two more spells towards Iona, hitting her in the side with one.

"That hit was pathetic. It barely hurt," she sneered. Out of the corner of her eye, Iona saw Mircea start to form a spell in his hands, but she quickly disarmed him nonverbally.

The older Kirkland reared back and punched her brother as hard as she possibly could, sending the young man flying backwards. Iona jumped on top of him, pinning him down with her weight.

"Miss Iona!" Stefan wailed. He hid behind Amelia, who stood a few feet away in shocked paralysis.

"Don't. You. Dare. Attack. Me!" Iona cried, punching Arthur in the gut with every word. Arthur's eyes lit up again, and Iona was blasted off of his chest, nearly knocking over Amelia and Stefan in the process. The two bystanders cried out and scrambled further away.

"You little witch," Arthur spat, a sword appearing in his hand. Iona had just enough time to stand up and brush herself off before Arthur ran at her with it.

"Iona! No!" Mircea cried. He launched a vicious barrage of metal spines at Arthur, puncturing Arthur's leg and swiping one of his ears.

"What the hell?" Iona wailed, her eyes glowing silver in the darkness. She created a magical shield and blocked Arthur's attack.

"I'm trying to help you!" Mircea yelled.

"Not you, you idiot! Arthur, you're seriously coming at me with a sword? That's a bit of overkill, isn't it, little brother?" Iona shrieked.

"You deserve it. Heaven knows anyone who willingly leaves their siblings is the lowest sort of life form," Arthur sneered, stabbing at his sister.

"I can think of worse things I could've done, Arthur. That's a little overdramatic," Iona huffed.

A ball of fire formed and hovered over Iona's hand, and she shot it at her brother. Stefan screamed.

"If you would just listen to me, dammit, I could explain everything, and then—"

"Why the bloody hell would I ever listen to you?"

Arthur lunged again, this time getting Iona in the side. The young woman cried out and crumpled into a heap on the ground when Arthur pulled the sword from the deep wound.

"Iona! What the hell did you do, Kirkland?" Mircea screamed, attempting to run towards his best friend. When he found that he was blocked by Arthur's shield spell, he quickly directed an ancient spell at the younger Kirkland sibling, watching in sick amusement as Arthur screamed in pain when he felt his blood literally boiling. He couldn't help but laugh maniacally at the Englishman's writhing and screaming, enjoying the surge of power he felt flowing through his veins.

"Brother, stop that! It's not right!" Stefan wailed, running over to his brother and tugging on the Romanian man's pants. "Don't kill Captain Arthur!"

"Mircea! That's enough! You promised!" Iona hissed, glaring up at her brother. Mircea stopped upon hearing her words, and Arthur relaxed.

"Face it, Iona," Arthur growled, recovering from Mircea's spell, "this is a losing battle."

Iona looked up at him with baleful eyes.

"Never. I will not bow to my baby brother in a fight."

Two large metal wheels appeared, razor-sharp knives sticking out, and Iona took the opportunity to throw one at Arthur. Arthur dodged and threw a punch at Iona, landing it on her shoulder. His sword disappeared and he resorted to close combat.

"Good to see that you've learned martial arts, Artie-lad," Iona said, wincing at the immense pain in her side. Like hell was she going to let any injury distract her from this. It wasn't like she wanted to fight, but she knew she had to if she wanted to survive long enough to explain herself.

"I was just wondering where you learned to use Chinese wind and fire wheels," Arthur said coldly.

"I've been traveling all over the world for five years. We spent three months in China before the Eastern Republic took them over," Iona replied, stepping away from Arthur with one hand covering the gash in her side. Blood seeped through her fingers, and when the flying wind and fire wheel came hurling back to her, it nearly slipped out of her red-coated hand as she reached up to grab it.

"Miss Iona! You're bleeding really, really badly," Stefan cried, trying to run towards the Scotswoman.

"Mircea, get him and Miss Jones out of here!" Iona yelled, just as Arthur came at her again with a spell. She wasn't quick enough, and let out a yelp of pain as he struck her in the chest. Iona jumped back a few feet, but Arthur quickly closed the distance, only for Iona to leap up and flip over him, both wheels in hand. As she was right over his head, she detached one of the knives and slashed at his shoulder.

"Look! Now we both have hurt shoulders," she taunted, landing on both feet. She winced again, but stayed upright.

This only seemed to make Arthur angrier, and he cast a vicious ice spell, stabbing Iona's arms with icicles. Iona howled, and paid him back in kind with a wicked-looking shadow-bird creature that sliced up Arthur's back.

"Come on, guys, let's just go! Stop this silly fighting!" Amelia cried out.

"We're not leaving without you two," Mircea yelled back, pushing Stefan behind him.

"Yeah, Arthur! Calm down!" Amelia wailed.

The Kirkland siblings hit each other with nasty spell after nasty spell, knife slice after knife slice, and punch after punch.

It was soon obvious that both were beginning to get exhausted. Iona had somehow managed to make a deep gash in Arthur's chest, and Iona herself was still bleeding badly from the wound in her side. Finally, they both stood facing one another, breathing raggedly and looking much worse for the wear.

Iona was the first to fall, her face pale and ashen. Mircea dashed to her side, removing his black jacket and covering her up in it. Despite her thick wool tartan shawl, she was shivering madly, and Mircea knew that if he didn't get her back soon, she wouldn't make it. He began saying rapid prayers in Romanian, begging whatever Power that existed to let Iona live.

Arthur quickly fell, much like his sister, but Amelia caught him before he could hit the ground.

"We have to get them back, now!" Mircea yelled worriedly, sitting on the ground and gathering Iona into his arms. His eyes glowed red.

_Hey, Norwegian guy,_ he thought, hoping that Lukas would pick up on the message. This was one of those moments when he was glad he had magic so he could do stuff like this.

_What do you want, vampire? And my name is Lukas_, came the surly response.

_We have a bit of a situation, I don't have time to explain, but I need help now. Can you send a team to the castle? It's majorly important,_ Mircea thought.

_Yeah, hold on a few minutes while I—_

_No, now._

Mircea felt Lukas sigh and then mentally walk away from the conversation.

"Hold on, Iona," the Romanian muttered, brushing some hair from Iona's face.

"I'll try," she whispered, smiling at him softly. Stefan ran over to them and hugged Iona.

"You'll be okay, Miss Iona," the child said, his bottom lip trembling. He grabbed one of her hands and held it close to his chest. Iona passed out soon after that, cradled in Mircea's arms as he softly sang in Romanian.

"You alright there, Artie?" Amelia said. Arthur grimaced, but nodded as best he could.

"I'll pull through," he groaned before he too blacked out.

A few tense minutes later, a carriage appeared, and Lukas and Mathias jumped out.

"Is everything alri—_Hellig helvede almægtige_!" Mathias yelled, skidding to a stop next to Mircea.

"Take them and get them back to the ship immediately," Mircea commanded, allowing the Dane to take Iona and carry her to the carriage. He then returned to help Lukas drag Arthur over.

"What happened?" Mathias asked, looking from Mircea's worried expression to Stefan's large watery eyes to Amelia's sad face.

"Iona tried to be nice to Arthur, but he wasn't having it, and she pushed the point, so he snapped, and they had a fight," Amelia said as Lukas helped her into the carriage. The others jumped in and they set off for the Edinburgh Aerodrome.

"Well, at least they got it out here in Edinburgh rather than on the ship. We don't need any attention brought while we're flying a stolen ship," Lukas sighed.

"Speaking of that, why are we in Edinburgh anyways? Why not refuel in a place closer to the destination?" Mathias said with nods of agreement from Amelia and Mircea.

"The way Captain Kirkland explained it to me yesterday, it's because the British don't really care about the fact that this is an unnamed stolen ship because they like doing anything to piss off the Germans, while anywhere closer to Russia is most likely enemy territory. It's not preferable, but we had to go somewhere we could trust," Lukas said with a shrug.

They spent the rest of the trip back to the ship in near-silence, the only sounds being the horses' hooves against the cobblestones and Stefan's childish singing, which Amelia suspected was just to distract himself from the worried tension inside the carriage.

Everything after they returned to the ship was a blur, and Amelia wasn't honestly sure how or when she was ushered to the infirmary.

"Stefan, why don't you go find Uncle Sadik and see if he'll play with you for a little while?" Mircea suggested softly. The boy nodded and ran off, leaving the American woman and the Romanian to watch over the sleeping Kirkland siblings.

"Oh _mon Dieu_! What happened?" Francis cried as he, Gilbert, and Antonio rushed in.

"Sibling rivalry," Amelia said.

"More like sibling death match, from the looks of it," Gilbert snorted, earning a glare from Mircea.

"What did Mister Väinämöinen say? Will they live?" Antonio said, stumbling over the Finnish man's surname.

"Ah, yes, they'll live. Lukas and Mircea were able to do some minor healing on them, and, if Miss Mackenzie is anything like Captain Kirkland, they'll both be up and walking within the next few days, regardless of whether or not they're supposed to be," Tino said as he entered the room, followed closely by Berwald.

"But it puts us back a little, because we can't leave until Kirkland is at least up and moving. Lovely. Guess the Russians will just take over Prussia in the meantime," Gilbert huffed.

"Just because you're in a bad mood, Gilbert, doesn't mean that you need to take it out on the injured. I, for one, am glad that they went ahead and tried to kill each other because now the only way from here is up," Francis said with a pointed look at the Prussian.

"Whatever. How long till we can actually leave this city? It's too damn cold," Gilbert said.

"Well, I'd say they'll be strong enough for us to set out for Russia within a week or so, but that's only if we give them both some peace. Perhaps we should take this discussion up to the third floor, no? I have some salmiakki we could snack on," Tino said with a smile.

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

**December 25th, 1885**

_"Iona? Are you in there? Come on, everybody's awake! It's time to open presents!" Arthur said. He pressed his ear to the door, but heard no movement inside._

_"Iona?" he called again._

_Finally, he tried the door handle and found it unlocked, a rare occurrence for an eighteen-year-old woman with all-male siblings. Arthur warily opened the door and peered inside Iona's spacious corner room. The lights were on, the drawers open and empty, and the closet much the same. Even the bedclothes were missing. The only personal touch that remained was the picture on the bedside table, taken only a year ago when Iona had graduated from St. Andrew's Academy and Alistair had graduated from the Royal Air Force Academy, back when they were all still a family, six siblings and two smiling parents. Sitting next to the picture was a folded piece of paper._

_Arthur walked over to the table and picked up the paper. He immediately recognised his sister's flowery cursive script._

_"En Ma Fin Est Mon Commencement._

_~Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie~_

_25th December, 1885"_

_Arthur's hands shook, and he read the small note over and over again, hoping that his sister would come down the hall with a grin on her face to tell him that it was all just a joke, but after five minutes, no such thing happened._

_"Okay, Squirt, we're all awake and down here waiting for you and Io, so what's the holdup?" Dylan called. Arthur heard footsteps running up the stairs._

_"Where are you, Art? We're waiting," Dylan said from down the hall._

_"I'm coming," Arthur finally responded, his voice as shaky as his hands. He walked out of the room and met Dylan at the stairs._

_"What's wrong, Brother-mine? And where's Em?"_

_"I-I don't know," Arthur said quietly, showing Dylan the note. Dylan's mint-green eyes filled with understanding, and he put an arm around his baby brother._

_"Will yer guys 'urry up? Oi want ter see waaat al' Oi got dis year!" Sean yelled._

_"We're coming, Sean. Hold your horses," Dylan said. He lead Arthur downstairs, and the pair was greeted by a tackle hug from the twins._

_"'appy Christmas, Artie! 'appy Christmas, Ion—hey, where's Iona?" Colin said, his wide smiling turning to a look of confusion. Dylan nudged Arthur._

_The youngest Kirkland handed Colin the note._

_"Just read it," he grunted._

_"En Ma Fin Est Mon Commencement, Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie, 25th December, 1885" Colin read aloud. He looked up at Arthur and Dylan before sharing a shocked look with his twin._

_"Does this mean—" Sean whispered._

_"Her room's completely empty. This was the only thing I found," Arthur said sadly, tears stinging his eyes._

_"She left us?" Colin said. Arthur nodded._

_"That's what it generally means when one of us tells the others, 'En Ma Fin,'" Arthur mumbled._

_"But why?" Dylan asked, staring at the stairs mournfully._

_"I really don't know," Arthur replied. The four brothers huddled together in a hug, tears flowing freely down their faces._

**August 19th, 1886**

_"Wing Commander Kirkland?"_

_Arthur snapped out of his reverie, noticing that he'd been doodling in the margins of his notebook again. One of his classmates stood by his desk._

_"Yes?" he said, raising an eyebrow._

_"How was your summer holiday? Did you get to visit your family?" the youth asked kindly._

_"I stayed here the entire time. I try not to visit my family as much as possible," Arthur snapped. It had been a year and two-thirds since his sister's disappearing act, and Arthur had found that going home only made him angry._

_"That's a shame. Anyways, do you think you're going to get a promotion soon? I've heard that they're needing ranked officers to go and combat the sky pirates."_

_"I'd be shocked if I weren't promoted, yes."_

_"Speaking of pirates, have you heard about that Prussian captain? I think his name is Beilschmidt or something like that. They say that he looks like a demon, but that his first mate actually is a demon. I'd love to take them on!"_

_"I'm sure you would, but I'd rather not deal in the affairs of demons."_

_In truth, Arthur did want to confront Beilschmidt and his crew, but that was more because he wanted to be the famous hero to eradicate the pirate scourge. Gaining such recognition would give Arthur a lot of power, and this thought was the only thing driving Arthur through the Academy at this point. He wanted the power to be able to track down his sister, wherever she might be, and bring her home to face the guilt of her actions._

**November 30th, 1887**

_"Choose whichever ship you'd like, Air Vice-Marshall Kirkland. All of these are state-of-the-art, the absolute best the British Empire can offer!" the aerodrome manager said, gesturing to row after row of beautiful newly-built ships. Arthur walked down the rows with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at each ship with a hawk's eye. Finally, he came to one with two large large horizontal propellers sticking up from the main deck of the ship, with four smaller horizontal propellers situated at the four corners of the deck. Other than the six sets of blades, the ship reminded Arthur of an old pirate ship from the days when pirates ruled the seas, not the skies._

_"Oh, my, this one's a beaut. She was just delivered this morning, right before you came in, and, quite honestly, she's my favourite here. Her design is as English as a ship can get, but she has the abilities of any German ship out there. She doesn't require as much fuel as the standard RAF ship, she can hold up to three times her weight in cargo while still staying airborne, and she has enough living space to house a crew of fifteen, though she only needs a minimum of four to run," the old man said when he saw the ship Arthur was looking at._

_"I'll take her," Arthur said without hesitation._

_"Perfect! Any idea of what you'll name her?"_

_"Not in the slightest," Arthur sighed. Inside, he was ecstatic. Finally, he was one step closer to bringing his sister home._

_Arthur lay in bed later that night, his thoughts racing about. Why was he so intent on finding Iona? It made no sense, really. If she wanted to be rid of him and his brothers, well, good riddance. They didn't need her...did they? Arthur had to admit, something in his heart had felt like it was missing since Iona had left. He'd tried his best to fill in that hole with bitterness and anger, and, to a certain extent, it had worked, but he still felt faintly hollow. Perhaps he thought that if he could just bring Iona home, she'd settle down and find herself a nice young merchant's son to marry, and Arthur would never have to worry about her again. At the same time, the Englishman felt as though his sister didn't deserve that sort of happiness, not after all of the grief she'd caused._

**The Unnamed Ship—March 12th, 1890—02:00**

**First Mate Iona Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona's dreams were haunted by scenes from her past, tinged with guilt and regret and soul-crushing sadness. She wished more than anything that she could just go back in time and stop herself from leaving her family. Finally, she willed herself awake, focusing on the screaming pain in her abdomen and her arms.

Initially, she was a little confused as to where she was, until she heard her brother's familiar voice mumble in his sleep.

_Look at what you've gotten yourself into now, Iona. You're all cut and bruised within an inch of your life,_ she could practically hear Alistair say. The thought brought her back to her childhood, a year after Arthur was born, when she and Alistair had spent long hours in the meadow and the woods nearby their family's summer house in the Highlands, playing and laughing and getting into all sorts of trouble.

_"You'll never catch me!" Alistair called, running away from his twin sister._

_"I will if you give me a chance!" Iona retorted, dashing after him. Her skirt got tangled in a nearby bush, and the four year old went crashing to the ground, banging her elbow on a rock and face-planting in a nearby mud puddle._

_"Iona, are you okay?" Alistair shrieked, hurrying to his sister's side._

_"N-no! I hurt my elbow and my dress is all ruined!" the little girl wailed, tears streaming down her muddy face. Along with the injury on her elbow, she had various cuts and bruises, and her hair was covered in leaves._

_"Come on, let's take you to Mum. She'll get you all cleaned up," Alistair soothed, taking his sister's hand and leading her back towards the house._

The scene changed, and suddenly, Iona found herself coming in the back door of their house in London, now a young lady of fifteen, though she looked more like a street urchin at that moment. Her hair, which had been artfully done that morning by her mother, was now a frizzy mess, parts of it falling out of the sophisticated style her mother had spent so much time on, and her long pink dress was splattered with blood and dirt. She remembered that day all too well, and she especially remembered Alistair's reaction.

_"What the bloody hell happened to you, Sister-mine?" Alistair growled, making Iona jump. She stared at her twin with wide eyes, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly._

_"Don't tell me it's nothing, Iona. I know when you're lying. Who did you fight this time?"_

_"That stupid little git from down the road was shouting abuse at me again. I did what I had to," Iona sniffed, scowling at her brother._

_"So you attacked him?" Alistair said, cocking an eyebrow._

_"Well, first, I just sent a bad luck spell his way, but he caught on and started yelling more abuse at me, so then I attacked him."_

_"So you mean you attacked him."_

_"Yeah, I suppose so."_

_"Look at you, Iona. You're a bloody mess, and I mean that both figuratively and literally. What in the world are we going to do with you? What do you think Mum and Dad are going to think when they see you?" Alistair sighed, gesturing to Iona's torn dress._

_"They won't find out. I'm going to go get myself cleaned up," the young woman quipped, starting towards the stairs._

_"Iona, promise me you won't get into any more rows like this. You're 15-years old. Soon enough, people are going to be expecting you to actually behave like a lady of society, not some barbarian," Alistair said, blocking her way._

_"Fine, Ali. I promise," Iona huffed, but Alistair didn't budge._

_"No, look me in the eyes and promise me."_

_Iona fixed her green-grey eyes on her brother's forest-green eyes. "Aye, I promise."_

The scene changed once more, and Iona felt her heart drop at the memory. It was the day her brother left for Poland—the last time she ever saw him.

_"You swear you'll be safe?" she asked quietly, straining to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. Alistair looked at her with a kind smile._

_"I swear to the moon and back, Iona. Don't worry. You'll see me at Christmas, and then they're moving me back to the London base. I'm just going to go help fend off the Russians at Warsaw for a few months. I'm not worried, and you shouldn't be either," Alistair replied._

_"You'll write to me every day?"_

_"Maybe not every day, but every week, yes."_

_"I don't want you to go, Ali. We just lost Mum and Dad. What will I do if something happens to you?" Iona said._

_"I don't want to go either, but I have to. Remember that cloak I gave you?" Alistair said._

_"Aye. It's up in my room."_

_"Well, whenever you feel like you miss me too much, just wrap yourself up in it and pretend I'm sitting there with you, listening to you tell stories again, or singing with you. Before you know it, I'll be home."_

_Iona nodded sadly and wrapped her arms around Alistair's midsection tightly. The older twin responded by enveloping her in a warm embrace._

_"I have to go now, but I'll be home for Christmas. I love you, Sister-mine, and no matter how far away I am, I'm here for you. Remember that," Alistair said, kissing the top of his sister's head._

_"I love you too, Alistair," Iona said. Alistair released her and, with one final encouraging smile, ascended the gangplank onto the ship that would take him to Poland._

Iona felt a tear run down her cheek, but even the memory of Alistair's departure was nothing compared to the next memory her mind jumped to.

_"Iona?" Dylan yelled from the front door._

_"What is it, Dylan?" Iona called, coming to the top of the stairs._

_"There's a man from the Ministry of Defense here. Says it's urgent," Dylan said, stepping aside for Iona to see the man at the door. The young woman hurried down the stairs, a flurry of red skirts and even redder hair._

_"Good evening, sir. How may I help you?" she said, ignoring the growing pit of dread in her gut._

_"Are you Miss Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie?" the man asked._

_"Yes, what do you need?" Iona replied cautiously._

_The man said nothing, but handed Iona a letter with the official Ministry of Defense seal._

_"I'm very sorry," he finally said before turning to leave. Iona shut the door and looked at Dylan, gathering her composure._

_"Should I go get the others?" he said quietly, watching his sister's face go pale, her polite smile falling._

_"Yes, please. I think we all need to open this together," she said. Dylan ran to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with Sean, Colin, and Arthur in tow._

_"What is it, Io?" Arthur said, looking at his sister with a worried expression._

_"There's been a letter from the MoD. I thought it would be best to open it together," Iona replied shakily. She gently tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter._

_"16th December, 1885_

_Dear Miss Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie,_

_It is my deepest regret to inform you of the passing of your brother, Air Commodore Alistair James Kirkland-Mackenzie, on the 15th of December, 1885. I am writing you this letter as you were named Mister Mackenzie's next of kin following the death of your parents. Rest assured that your brother died a hero on the battlefield defending not only the British Empire, but Europe as a whole. His sacrifice will not be forgotten, and he will be given all military honours. Alistair's body will be transported back to London in two days' time, at which point he will be given a funeral in the cemetary of your choice. Should there be anything that you or your family needs in this time of grieving, do not hesitate to contact the Ministry of Defense. Again, I am so sorry for your loss._

_Regretfully,_

_Marshal of the Royal Air Force, Sir Winston Holmes"_

_All five of the siblings stared at the letter, each of them still trying to process what it had said._

_Sean was the first to register the bad news, grabbing his twin brother's hand and squeezing it. Colin followed, leaning his head on Sean's shoulder, silent tears running down his face. Dylan placed a supportive hand on Arthur's shoulder, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his other arm, while Arthur just stared stoically at the ground._

_Iona crumpled into a heap on the floor with a wail._

_"No! This can't be true, Alistair can't be gone!" she cried, balling up the letter and throwing it at the door before burying her face in her hands "This has to be some sort of joke!"_

_"Iona, it's not. He's really gone," Arthur said mechanically._

_"Oh God, no, no, no..." she sobbed._

_"Iona, we should go to the sitting room. I'll fix you some tea," Dylan said._

_Arthur helped Iona up and led her to the sitting room, helping her sit down in her chair. She looked shocked and despondent, and tears continued to run down her face. Sean sat down on the armrest and started playing with Iona's hair absentmindedly, braiding and unbraiding it just to give himself something to do. Colin curled up by the fire, hugging his knees to his chest as he stared at the dancing flames. Dylan came in a few minutes later with a cup and a small biscuit, and placed it on the table next to Iona._

_"Alistair's...gone..." Arthur mumbled, sitting himself at Iona's feet and leaning his head on her knees._

_"What are we going to do?" Sean asked quietly, trying to untangle a strand of mahogany-red hair._

_"We'll keep going, just the same as always," Dylan sighed._

_"We'll need to make arrangements quickly," Iona said, taking a sip of her tea._

_"We'll do that in the morning. Today, we take our time to grieve. Tomorrow, we keep calm and carry on," Dylan said._

_Thank God for Dylan, else we'd all go to hell in a handbasket right now, Iona thought sadly to herself._

_That night, all five teens slept in the same bed, drying one another's tears and holding each other closely. When morning came, they got up early and set about making funeral arrangements, keeping themselves busy to keep the tears at bay._

The tears ran fast and hot down Iona's face at that point, and the young woman let out a choked sob, hugging the pillow tightly.

"Sometimes, I still hear Alistair scold me for doing stupid things, just like he used to," Arthur's voice said through the darkness.

"What?" Iona croaked.

"Right before I attacked you, I heard him tell me not to do it. I probably should've listened," the younger Kirkland laughed bitterly, adding, "I know he's not actually there, but I guess my conscience took on his voice at some point."

"I was being awful, Arthur. I deserved it," Iona said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"You didn't deserve to be nearly beaten to death, Iona."

"You said it yourself: I abandoned you and the others. Yes, I did deserve it, and much more, if I'm honest."

"I was angry. I've been angry for the past five years, but you can see where that anger's gotten me. It's done nothing but turned me into a bitter shell of a man and—"

"And I've spent the past five years running from my guilt because I couldn't face you four. You may be angry and bitter, but I'm a coward with no excuse, and I've spent every day since I left regretting my decision."

"I guess we're both fools. What would Alistair say if he could see the two of us now?"

"I'll tell you what he'd say. He'd say, 'I turn my back on you two for one second, and you go and just make bloody awful messes of your lives. I can't believe I'm related to you!' and he'd grin and give us some sort of goofy punishment, like having to give Sean a foot massage, or helping Dylan organise his books alphabetically and by colour," Iona laughed sadly. Arthur chuckled.

"I've missed you, Iona, I really have. Those first few months after you left were some of the hardest I've ever gone through, because not only had I lost Alistair, I'd also lost you," Arthur said.

"And Mum and Dad, but it's not like they were really around very much. Is it bad that when we went to their funerals, I felt like I was going to the funeral of some couple we barely knew?" Iona said.

"No, because I felt the same way. It's no wonder we're both so fucked up, is it?" Arthur said.

"Good. I'm not crazy."

"I just have one question, Iona. Why'd you leave us when we needed you so badly?"

Iona sighed and stared at him through the dark for a few moments, letting the tears well up in her eyes. "Losing Alistair...it, it—" She had trouble finishing her sentence verbally, but the sob that shook her body finished it for her. "The day after we got the letter from the MoD, Gilbert offered me the chance to join his crew as a sky pirate, and I knew that the only way to protect my Air Force-oriented family from sky pirates shooting at them was to become, well, a sky pirate. I never intended to leave until after you'd left to go back to school, but when you got your RAF letter—" She continued rambling on incoherently for a few more seconds before going silent.

"What? What happened after I got my RAF letter?" Arthur prodded, but the sharp intake of breath and the small whimper that followed made him pause. "What happened to cause you to leave?" he asked again more softly.

"And then the RAF were trying to take you away, and God, I just, all I could think was, was..." She trailed off brokenly before plunging forward again. "I was just so, so angry—First Ali, then you. God, were those bastards trying to destroy my whole family? I couldn't just stand there and take it, not again, not a second time. I had to do something, something extreme to show the world that it wasn't going to break me, something to show that I was strong and independent, something like—"

"Like join a pirate crew," Arthur supplied dryly. "Which has helped us all so much, clearly."

"Shut up," Iona said, but it lacked heat. "I know it was stupid. I wasn't...I wasn't thinking straight at the time. The only thing I knew was that the RAF had hurt me once and were trying to hurt me again, and, well, I thought that maybe—maybe it wouldn't be so painful if I could hurt them back."

"Iona—" Arthur was having a hard time getting the gist of what his sister was saying, and really, he thought that she wasn't making much sense at all, but he knew that now was not the time to be telling her such.

"Look, I don't blame you if you never speak me again. I've hurt you more than anyone could imagine, and Arthur, I'm so sorry about that," Iona said shakily, fighting back another round of tears.

"I accept your apology, Iona. You're my sister, and I love you, but this will take a while, so long as you're willing to work at it," Arthur said.

"I would love that, Artie-lad," Iona replied. Arthur laboriously sat up and swung his legs around to the side of the bed. He got up and walked over to Iona's bed and sat down on the edge for a moment before laying down next to her.

"I'm glad to have you back," he whispered. Iona smiled in response and closed her eyes, drifting back to sleep once more.

When Tino came back into the room, he found the Kirkland-Mackenzie siblings curled up on Iona's bed together.

"Maybe we should leave them for a little bit longer," Tino said with a knowing smile, blocking the others from entering the room.


	18. Chapter 18: Flight of The Phoenix

**The Unnamed Ship, Edinburgh Aerodrome, Edinburgh, Scotland—March 20th, 1890—20:15**

**Lukas Erickson**

The days following the 'Great Kirkland Fight,' as many of the crew members had been calling it, passed in a blur without any further incident. Everybody anxiously awaited Tino's clearance of the Kirkland siblings so that they could begin their trip to St Petersburg.

"Do the magic! Do the magic!" Stefan giggled, pulling on Lukas' pant leg. The Norwegian man rolled his eyes, but complied, creating a beautiful ice fairy in his hand and making the little figurine twirl, much to Stefan's delight.

"Yay! Can you make a story out of the ice? One with a princess and a magician and a dragon?" the little boy squealed, his voice echoing in the hallway outside of the infirmary.

At that moment, Lukas greatly disliked the rest of the crew for having other responsibilities because it left him as the only one available to entertain the small child, a job he didn't find himself particularly suited for. Raising Emil had been taxing enough, and Lukas felt that he did not need to have a hand in raising another child.

"I'm afraid not, Stefan. I'm not even supposed to be doing magic without the captain's permission anyways, and I'd rather not end up in the infirmary just like Captain Arthur and his witch sister," Lukas huffed, rubbing one of the many scars from his own fight with Iona.

Just then, the infirmary door opened, and Arthur limped out, supported by Amelia and Sadik due to the injury on his back.

"Sir," Lukas said, standing up and nodding to the captain.

"Lukas, how long have you been out here?" Arthur asked.

"Since the Romanian kid went in and left me to watch his brother," Lukas sniffed, gesturing to Stefan who sat in a porthole behind him, swinging his legs and humming. "Though it's not like it's doing him any use to stay by her side. She hasn't spoken to him since the fight."

It took the child a second to notice the captain, but when he did, he leapt down from the window and ran over to Arthur, hugging the man's legs.

"Captain Arthur! You're okay!" he chirped. Arthur reached down and ruffled Stefan's hair.

"Yes, Stefan, I'm okay."

"Is Big Sister Iona okay too? Is she leaving the infirmary? Because you know, she promised me that when she got out, she would play with me and bake with me and sing songs and tell stories!"

"She'll be out in a few. For now, I need you to go round everyone up and tell them to go to the third floor. Can you do that for me, Stefan?" Arthur said with a smile.

"Yes sir!" Stefan exclaimed, saluting Arthur, his sleeve covering his face.

The boy ran off, and Arthur turned back to Lukas.

"What's the meeting about?" the Norwegian said.

"We're naming the ship. It's the last thing that needs to be done before we set off, and now that we have four magic wielders onboard, getting a name onto the ship itself shouldn't be particularly difficult. Go on ahead, Lukas. I'm going to wait for Iona," Arthur said. Lukas nodded and set off down the hallway.

Two minutes later, Iona walked out looking much healthier and happier than when she'd entered the infirmary.

"Everything all set?" she asked.

"I do believe so. Now, come on. We have a ship to go name," Arthur replied. He lead the way up, never letting go of Amelia's hand the entire time.

"I think they're rather cute, don't you, 'Ona?" Mircea whispered. Iona gave him a sidelong glance. Mircea cowered under the withering look and fell back a few feet.

They came to the third floor where the two Kirkland siblings were greeted with an applause.

"Glad to see you two didn't actually kill each other!" Mathias called, earning a punch from Lukas.

"Stop being obnoxious, fool," the smaller man scolded.

Arthur joined the other three captains at the front of the room while Iona took a seat between Mircea and Berwald at the back of the room.

"Are we all ready to get this started?" Antonio said.

His question was met with cheers and a chorus of, "Yes!"

"The four of us have been talking while I've been in the infirmary, and we've realised that, as one final symbol of unifying our crews, we needed to choose a name for our new home," Arthur said triumphantly, surveying the crowd with sparkling green eyes. "Some of you may recall that I had you come visit me at odd hours, asking you for suggestions of what you would want to name a ship if you were allowed to be captain. Some of the responses we got were beautiful, some not so beautiful, and some were just downright strange. However, there was one name that stuck out to us through the entire process, one which we thought was absolutely fitting. This ship symbolises all four crews rising up from the ashes of hatred, anger, heartbreak, and insanity, taking the destruction of what we held dear and turning it into something beautiful with the potential to do so much. Even the ship itself seems to invite the name we have chosen in its physical form. My friends, from this day forward, this ship will be _The_ _Phoenix_!" His announcement was met with cheers and shouts of affirmation and approval.

Various crew members approached the four captains, sharing their opinions on the name.

"I think it's _perfekt_," Ludwig said with a nod.

"_Si! È bellissimo!_" Feliciana chirped.

"Like, I couldn't have thought of a better one myself," Feliks said.

"_Çok_ _güzel_!" Sadik exclaimed, clapping Arthur on the back.

"I guess it isn't total _câcat_," Mircea huffed, "though I think my suggestion would've been better."

"We already told you ten times, Mircea, we are never naming any ship, '_Cele Nebun Lucru Zbor_,'" Arthur said, faintly annoyed at the Romanian's antics.

"What even does that mean?" Francis said. "It's not a very beautiful name at all!"

"It means 'The Crazy Flying Thing!'" Mircea stated with a clownish grin.

Francis just shook his head and looked over at Iona, who was trying to stay as quiet and unnoticed as possible.

"He's perfect for you, Iona," the Frenchman whispered when Mircea was distracted.

"Don't even say such crazy things. I'm afraid that my anger at Mister Bălan supersedes any other emotion at this time," Iona hissed, earning a raised eyebrow from Francis.

"_Non_? Why are you so angry at him? He seems harmless enough, and the last time I checked, you never went anywhere without him, but okay. Whatever you say, _Ma_ _petite_ _Écossaise_."

"I'd prefer not to speak about it, but let's just say that he could've killed Arthur, and we'll leave it at that."

Francis chuckled and decided to leave Iona alone, knowing that it would not be in his best interest to anger her further.

At some point, Arthur dragged Lukas, Mircea, and Iona outside to both sides of the ship, two people on one side, two people on the other, to emblazon the newly minted name on to the carved metal.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, it's time for us to be off! Onwards to Russia!" Arthur yelled. The engines of the ship roared to life as the four magicians scrambled onboard, and soon enough, _The_ _Phoenix_ and her crew were airborne.

"How long will this voyage be?" Lukas asked as they walked to the bridge. In return for making them stay in Edinburgh an extra few days, Arthur had the honour of being the first captain on watch of the voyage, a job which meant he had to stay awake and alert the entire night.

"We're estimating it at about three weeks, possibly a little longer depending upon how long it takes us to refuel this thing. We're not entirely sure of her capabilities just yet," Arthur replied, removing his captain's hat and hanging up his jacket on a nearby hook as they exited the elevator.

"I would think that it would be shorter than that," Lukas said.

"You and me both, but considering we have three civilian women onboard this ship, we have to account for stopping in various cities along the way to allow them some freedom, plus, as many people are living on this thing, who knows how long our food supplies will last. We're estimating that we can get about halfway across Europe before we have to refuel, so that will take about a day and a half. Plus, considering we stole this ship from the Germans, we're having to choose a route that does not go through Germany, adding an extra four days. Quite honestly, I'm really not sure, Lukas. I just left the infirmary. Don't trust my logic right now."

Lukas rolled his eyes a little, but shrugged.

"Jack, set the ship to the southeast. We're heading towards Marseilles," Arthur barked. His cousin and navigator, Jack, nodded and punched in some numbers into a small screen in front of him.

"We're stopping in Marseilles? Really?" Lukas said incredulously.

"Francis wanted to. We're also stopping in Venice, Budapest, and possibly Warsaw before we get to St Petersburg. I think it's ridiculous, but they outvoted me," Arthur huffed.

"Vakker," Lukas mumbled, taking a seat at one of the nearby tables and leaning back. He had a feeling that this was going to be one hell of a trip from beginning to end.

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 21st, 1890—03:00**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

Gilbert paced around his captain's quarters, pausing only to look at the clock mounted on the wall. Its ticking had set the tempo for his steps as he'd spent hour after hour musing over the beginnings of a plan for what he should do after they succeeded in getting revenge on Ivan Braginsky.

"_Mein_ _Gott_," he swore, "how is it so late?"

When he found that his room could no longer contain him and his thoughts, he decided he would walk around the ship, hoping that maybe he could finalise this first phase of his plan and go to sleep.

He stepped out into the dim hallway, treading lightly so as to not wake anyone. Some crew members had their doors open, and he could hear various night noises.

"T'no, don't shoot anyone," Berwald mumbled in his sleep. Gilbert peered in and saw the Swede stretched out on the double bed, his arm around Tino, the ship's doctor and, Gilbert had only discovered that day, Berwald's lover.

Heracles snored loudly in his room down the hall, and Gilbert could've sworn he heard a cat mewing.

Gilbert walked further down the hall, using the lights of France below them twinkling in the window as a guide. It was a moonless, cloudless night, and it made Gilbert feel like they were all alone in the sky, the lone survivors of some great catastrophe caused by the inky darkness.

"Captain Beilschmidt, what're you doing up at this time of night?" a voice asked from down the hall. Daniel yawned and scratched his back while standing in his doorway.

"I couldn't sleep. What's your excuse?" Gilbert sniffed.

"I heard someone stomping down the hall," Daniel replied sleepily.

Gilbert scowled, partly cursing himself for his heavy footsteps, partly cursing Daniel for having good hearing.

"Well, if you must know, since the Awesome Me trusts you, Daniel, I've been trying to plan out how I'm going to steal this ship from the other three once we thrash Braginsky, and I think I've got some good ideas, because this is me we're talking about and I always have good ideas."

"Do tell, Captain."

"Well, this is what I've got right now," Gilbert started, "is that once we land in Berlin, I'll have one of my _Vater's_ old government friends wipe my record clean, and I'll turn everyone except the crew of _Der_ _Adler_ and anyone else who wishes to join me in for piracy and for the stealing of this ship. The authorities won't have any way to implicate me as a pirate captain, and I'll be the hero that saved Europe once we defeat Braginsky. Then, once I've got their undying love, I'll ask for the ship, claiming it as rightfully mine as a German citizen. Now, go on, go ahead and tell me that that isn't the most amazingly awesome plan you've ever heard."

"Um, Captain?" Daniel said, looking at Gilbert with one eyebrow cocked.

"_Ja_?"

"I think you're absolutely _őrült_," Daniel sighed.

"You think I'm crazy?" Gilbert said.

"Yes, Captain, I do, but in the best way possible," Daniel chuckled.

"So will you stand by me?"

"Of course. Now, I need to use the bathroom and you need to sleep. Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight, Daniel."

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 21st, 1890—10:00**

**First Mate Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

It was a cold and cloudy day, but Iona found that she didn't mind. The chill cleared her mind and took her thoughts away from the pain in her side, and the clouds kept her from getting too distracted by the beauty of the French landscape. They were entering the area, and, as first mate, she had a lot to do in preparation.

"Mister Dahl, can you hoist the civilian colours please?" she asked nicely, nodding to the crimson flag sitting in Abel's lap.

"Yeah, just give me a moment," Abel replied, taking one last deep breath of pipe smoke and puffing out a noxious cloud of purple smoke.

Iona coughed, waving a hand in front of her face.

"That stuff is awful for you. You know that, right?" she wheezed.

"Yeah, I know. What's it to you?" Abel grumbled.

"Nevermind. Just hoist the colours. We're coming into Marseilles airspace and I'd rather we not be shot down when they see a pirate flag."

Abel nodded and snuffed his pipe.

"Thank you, Mister Dahl," Iona said before walking past him. She continued along the top deck of the ship, making sure that everything was in place for their stop in Marseilles.

Marseilles had once been a well known pirate haven for many years, but after the city's new mayor had taken over, security had become tighter, and they had started staging pirate executions nearly every day. Now, the city was crawling with bounty hunters looking for infamous pirate captains, the foremost of these hunters being Cecile d'Arcy, a cunning young woman from Monaco rumoured to currently be in the employ of Italian politician Lucius Vargas. The thought that Arthur, Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert were most likely at the top of d'Arcy's list made Iona shudder.

_Dear God, please let this go off without a hitch_, she prayed silently.

"Miss Mackenzie, is there any reason why you've frozen with one foot about to step on one of my guns?" a gruff voice next to her asked. Vash sat on a crate polishing various rifles.

"Sorry, didn't see it there, Vash," Iona replied sheepishly, moving her foot away from the weapon in question.

"_Danke_," the Swiss man sniffed.

"Are you all prepared for Marseilles, Vash?" Iona asked. "You know that we're all going to have to guard the captains, as well as the Vargas sisters."

"Hmph. How fun," Vash said with a grunt. "Once I'm finished cleaning this rifle, I will be. How long until we land?"

"A little under two hours."

"Perfect."

Iona soon found that she needed to sit down, cursing the fact that she still wasn't entirely recovered, and busied herself with summoning her wind and fire wheels and polishing them.

_So much to do, so little time. We land in a few hours, and I'm not sure that any of us are ready. Nevermind the fact that at some point, I will need to speak to Mircea, but ugh, I don't want to_, she thought. _Alistair, grant me peace, and stay with me._

**Marseilles Aerodrome—March 21st, 1890—12:00**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

Mircea, for once, found himself dreading having to go to the market with Iona. Ever since her fight with Arthur, when Mircea, in an attempt to help her, had used one of the ancient spells, she'd been giving him the cold shoulder, choosing to spend time with her brother or Mathias, or even Lukas, rather than spending time with Mircea. Everyone had taken notice of it, yet here he was, descending the gangplank with Iona at his side, still being ignored.

"I'm pretty excited about seeing Marseilles, aren't you?" he asked sheepishly, hoping that maybe it would break the ice. Iona briefly looked over at him, her grey eyes distant and stormy, but gave no answer. They continued to walk in silence, and it made Mircea very nervous. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay, Iona, what the hell is up with you?" he huffed, blocking her path.

"It's nothing, Mircea," Iona sniffed, trying to move around him.

"If it's 'nothing,' then why are you treating me like a piece of dirt?" Mircea asked, even though he sort of knew the answer. Iona stared at him angrily for a moment.

"You and I both know that it's wrong to use the ancient spells unless death is imminent otherwise. Those spells are lethal, and you used one on my brother. Do you expect me to be pleased?" she growled, narrowing her eyes.

"He stabbed you in the side with a sword!" Mircea retorted.

"It wasn't your fight, Mircea. He wasn't threatening you or Stefan, meaning there was no justifiable reason for you to use such a spell on him. You should just thank God that Arthur put up that shield. And next time, consult me before you try to kill my family."

"Iona, I was just trying to help. I thought you were going to die, okay?"

"There are ten million other spells you could've used, Mircea. You weren't 'just trying to help,' you were aiming for the kill. I could see it in your eyes and I heard the fear in Stefan's voice. You enjoyed watching Arthur writhe in pain for those few minutes. You were grinning and laughing while he screamed. Do you expect me to just stand down and let you get away with that? I thought you'd moved past that part of yourself," Iona snarled, finally pushing past Mircea and stomping onwards towards the center of the city.

"I know, Iona. I know. I slipped up. It's just—Look, all I knew was that you were in trouble and that I had to do something. You're my best friend, Iona. What was I supposed to do?" Mircea said defeatedly. He looked at her with sad red eyes.

"You're powerful and you're intelligent. I'm sure you could've thought of a different spell. You chose to use one of the ancient spells because you knew it would bring Arthur to his knees, and you enjoyed all of it. That's really what I'm angry about. You swore to me three years ago that you would rein in that part of yourself. Remember? No more dark spells, no more killing, all of it was supposed to be gone. I thought you weren't like that anymore, yet you stood there with a bloody smile on your face as though watching my brother burn from the inside-out was the greatest thing you'd ever seen," Iona said, her voice wavering as though she were about to cry. "How am I supposed to trust you, Mircea? Are you sure it's safe for you to be around Stefan if your darker side has resurfaced—" Tears welled up in her jade-coloured eyes, but Mircea knew that they weren't tears of sadness. He'd seen these tears before, and they were tears of fear and concern. "It scares me, okay? I'm scared of what you'll do next because I can't control you. You're stronger than I am, and it keeps me up at night worrying about what'll happen if you get involved with dark magic again. You promised, Mircea. You promised never again." Iona sunk down onto a nearby bench, holding her head in her hands.

_Three Years Previous_

_Somewhere in Japan_

_"Remind me whose brilliant idea it was to attack the sacred temple?" Iona snapped, one hand trying to keep her kimono shut as she ran, the other gripping her satchel tightly. She was beginning to regret not just wearing a blouse and trousers._

_"It was __Gilbert's, dammit," her companion called back from a few feet behind her. He shot a ball of light at the temple guards chasing them, hitting a cherry blossom tree instead. There was something dark about him. It wasn't his physical appearance, though he wore a black kimono under a dark cloak. No, something about the air surrounding him, his 'aura,' was dark and sinister._

_The guards yelled at the pair in Japanese, and while Iona wasn't sure what they were saying, she had a pretty good idea of what the men wanted. _

_Suddenly, Iona and her companion found themselves in the middle of a large clearing overlooking a steep drop. _

_"Shit!" Iona hissed as she tried to stop. Her foot caught on a rock, sending the young woman sprawling with a yelp of pain and surprise, and her satchel flying._

_"Iona!" her companion yelled, skidding to a halt in front of her. The guards closed in on them and formed a circle around the pair, swords pointed and ready to be used should either westerner make a move. "Can you get up?" the young man asked._

_"No, I don't think so. I think I may have done something to my ankle," Iona gasped, her face contorting. _

_One of the guards barked something, and the guards inched closer. _

_"I can't fight them by myself, Iona."_

_Iona's eyes lit up in response, knocking most of the guards out, but the few that hadn't been affected by her spell charged the pair. _

_They attacked Iona first, a mistake they would soon regret. Her companion's eyes started glowing a demonic crimson as his mouth stretched into a hellish grin, showing off a set of very sharp fangs. _

_"Get away from her," the young man snarled. The guards were thrown several feet backwards, their bodies beginning to contort grotesquely almost immediately upon hitting the ground. _

_"What are you doing?" Iona said meekly, not entirely comprehending what was occurring. _

_"Protecting you, draga mea."_

_The guards let out wails of agony as they were lifted into the air, their bodies bending and twisting in ways no body should ever be bent. All the while, Iona's companion laughed gleefully as though he were watching the greatest comedy act on Earth._

_"Aren't we all just having so much fun?" he purred to the guards who could only look at him in terror. _

_One by one, the screams and cries of the guards stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of broken bodies hitting the ground once more. It was only then that the young man looked at Iona's face, horror-stricken and full of fear. _

_"Ce este, fată frumoasă?" he said, dropping to his knees and gathering the young woman in his arms. She was white as a sheet, her green-grey eyes wide and her hands trembling._

_"What did you do to them?" Iona said, though she knew the answer. She'd seen him do things like this before, ever since they'd dropped off his brother in Istanbul the year previous. She didn't need magic of her own to know that Alexandru Mircea Bălan had darkness in him. _

_"They were going to kill us, Iona. I did what I had to," Mircea said with a shrug. _

_"No, Mircea, you didn't have to do that. You didn't have to use an ancient spell. You could've just knocked them out!"_

_"But they would've alerted the authorities to our presence in Japan. We need to take care of the rest of these guys, too."_

_Iona hated it, but she was too exhausted to argue much, and simply shut her eyes tightly while Mircea silently killed the rest of the guards and pushed the bodies over the cliff. When all was said and done, Iona felt Mircea pick her back up and begin walking towards where their ship was docked, but not before retrieving the satchel containing the bejewelled statue they'd stolen. _

_They returned to the ship, and retreated to their individual rooms to nurse their wounds. _

_For his part, Mircea seemed to have been energised by the whole ordeal, acquiring a spring in his step and a much sunnier attitude, while Iona refused to leave her room, even after Berwald declared her ankle fully healed. _

_"What did you do to her?" Gilbert snapped at Mircea a week after the incident. Mircea stood in front of the captain's desk, eyes downcast but full of storms and anger. _

_"I didn't do anything, Captain!" the Romanian snarled._

_"Well, go check on her then! I need my first mate, and she won't tell me a thing about what happened, so I suggest getting all of this fixed now, __rumänischer Dummkopf!"_

_"Yes sir! Of course, sir," Mircea said, barely hiding the contempt in his voice. He walked as slowly as possible to Iona's room, dreading the conversation he knew was coming. The British sorcerers and their rules about magic. It was ridiculous. Who were they to tell the rest of the world's magical folk what they could and could not do with their abilities? Who were they to act like the kings and queens of magic? Granted, Mircea didn't mind listening to Iona. She was kind and gentle and intelligent and beautiful and—what the hell was he thinking? It was because of her that he'd been separated from his brother...But he couldn't bring himself to be mad at her. She was his only true friend, and if he was really honest with himself, he loved her almost as much as he loved Stefan. His reverie came to a sudden halt as he reached Iona's door._

_"Go away, Gilbert. I don't want to talk," a muffled voice from inside Iona's room yelled before Mircea could even knock on the door. He opened it anyways._

_"Good thing I'm not Gilbert then, huh?" the young man said. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting of the room, since Iona had closed all of her curtains and thrown blankets and shawls over all of the lamps. Once he could see things clearly again, he found Iona curled up on her bed, wrapped in various blankets, the hood of her cloak up, hiding her face. _

_"Get out," she hissed._

_"Sorry, no can do," Mircea said, walking over and sitting on the edge of her bed. _

_"What do you want?"_

_"I want to talk, draga mea. You haven't left your room in a week, and you've barely eaten anything in just as long. What's wrong?" he said gently. Iona shifted a little and lowered her hood. She was still deathly pale, and had large circles under her eyes. _

_They sat in silence for what felt like eternity. _

_"You killed those men..." Iona whispered, barely audible. Mircea's brows furrowed and he inched closer to his friend. _

_"I had to. They were going to—"_

_"No, Mircea, you didn't. A simple memory spell would've done just fine. There was no need for them to die."_

_"We're pirates, Iona. We kill people. It's part of our job description."_

_"Using the ancient spells is not. I know you think it's just one of the silly rules made by the British council, but it's not. All cultures have rules against them. And really, it's not even just that you used an ancient spell, Mir. You *enjoyed* it. You were laughing and grinning and genuinely enjoying torturing those men, and that's not the only time I've seen you do that," Iona said, her lips quivering and her jade eyes filling with tears. "Mircea, you have to realise that I'm grateful for your friendship onboard Der Adler, but you terrify me sometimes. Hell, you terrify me most of the time. There's a lot of darkness in you and if you don't learn to rein it in and control it, you're going to end up being consumed and by the laws of all magical people, I will have to kill you and you know that. This isn't some joke. I've had nightmares for the past week. Every time i shut my eyes, I see you, but it's not *you* that I see. It's some demon that's pretending to be you. You have to get control of this."_

_Mircea was stunned speechless as he tried to process her words, choosing to stare down at the floor rather than at the young woman. He didn't move until he felt Iona take one of his hands, causing his heart to leap a little._

_"You can move past this, Mir. I see a lot of darkness in you, but I also see a lot of potential for light. You also don't have to do it alone," she said, bringing his face up so that his gaze met hers. Mircea could've stared into her eyes for days. _

_After many moments of silence, Mircea sighed. "You'll stand by me the entire way?"_

_"Of course, you silly boy. You're my closest friend," the Scotswoman said with a gentle smile. _

_"Then I'll try to get control of this."_

_"Mircea, you have to promise me that you'll really give it a strong effort. No more killing, no more ancient spells, no more dark magic. Period."_

_"__Absolut, dragostea mea. Da, îți promit. Te-aș promit stelele dacă am avut de a."_

_"I don't speak Romanian, you fool."_

_"I promise, Iona. I absolutely promise with my whole heart."_

_Present Day_

Mircea squatted down in front of Iona so that he was on eye level, and took her hands in his.

"You have no reason to worry. It was a momentary slip-up, one that will not happen anymore. Believe me when I say that I only did it to protect you because I didn't want to see you get killed, but if it upsets you that much, I won't do it again," he said quietly.

"You promise?" Iona said.

"_Da, draga mea, promit_," Mircea replied with a small smile.

"Will you stop calling me a dragon? It makes me feel like you're making a comment on my weight or something," Iona quipped, pulling one of her hands away from his and ruffling Mircea's strawberry blond hair.

"My apologies, 'Ona. It just fits you," Mircea laughed. He stood up and picked up the sack they'd been given to carry supplies in.

"Whatever you say, Mir. Anyways, we should get going. The Quartet told me that they want to be out of here by 18:00, lest someone recognise the ship and call a bounty hunter," Iona said, rising to her feet. Mircea nodded, and they started towards the center of town.

In all of the excitement, the pair failed to notice the shady-looking man following them as far as the Aerodrome.

**Marseilles, France—March 21st, 1890—15:00**

**Cecile d'Arcy**

"_Mademoiselle d'Arcy_, there are rumours going about that four pirate captains have landed in Marseilles. They wouldn't happen to be of any interest to you, would they?" a well-dressed Luxembourger said casually.

"Depends upon who they are, Edward. Are they the ones Vargas is looking for? If not, consider yourself fired for wasting my time, because time is money," Cecile d'Arcy said, staring up at the young man over the tops of her glasses.

"You're in luck. I do believe that those are the men. Some friends of mine at the Aerodrome say that they're here until 18:00. Even better, and you can tell Vargas this little tid-bit of information, their next stop is Venice. I'd say we let them think they've escaped Marseilles without our notice, then, once they reach Venice, we lead a team of Vargas' men and capture the whole lot of them. How does that sound?" Edward replied smugly.

Cecile grinned and stood up.

"That sounds _merveilleux_. Be a good boy and run down to the train station and buy us two tickets to Venice. I'll send word on to Vargas and the rest of the United European Air Force."


	19. Chapter 19: By the Pricking of My Thumbs

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 21st, 1890—23:00**

**Stefan Zeltser-Bălan**

"Miss Feliciana, will you sing for me?" Stefan asked, tugging on Feliciana's skirt. The Italian girl smiled at him and patted the seat next to her, indicating for him to sit there. Stefan climbed up onto the bench, his eyes just barely able to see over the table.

"What do you want me to sing, _bambino_?" she said. Stefan looked up at her with sparkling eyes.

"_Nu_ _sunt_ _sigur_," he replied with a shrug. "What do you know?"

"I know lots of songs! _Ve~_ So does _sorella_, but she doesn't like to sing very much," Feliciana chirped.

"Y'know, kid, if Miss Vargas can't think of anything to sing for you, I could teach you a song in Hungarian," Daniel offered.

Stefan stared at him across the table for a moment. "Okay!"

"This one is called '_Repülj_, _Madár_, _Repülj_' which means 'Fly, Bird, Fly.'"

The room went silent.

"_Repülj madár repülj...Menaságra repülj...Édes galambomnak...Gyenge vállára ülj_!" Daniel began, his deep bass voice filling the kitchen. He continued, but Stefan stopped listening to the words, and instead focused on the tune. It was pretty and lilting, reminding him of a small sparrow flitting from tree to tree. Stefan noticed Miss Iona and his brother standing in the doorway, listening to the music, but also thought he saw another person on Miss Iona's other side, a tall man with a solid build. The illusion quickly vanished, and only Miss Iona and Brother were left smiling faintly, swaying a little.

Daniel finished the song, looking around at his companions. Most of the crew of _The_ _Phoenix_ was sitting in the kitchen, and, for the first time in a while, Daniel felt completely at home. Even the four captains were getting along, sitting amongst everyone else.

"That was, like, lovely Daniel, but now it's my turn!" Feliks exclaimed, jumping up out of his chair. He cleared his throat, but Toris quickly pulled him down.

"No, Fel, I don't think we want to hear your song right now. Perhaps somebody else?" the Lithuanian said sheepishly.

"I have a song for everybody, maybe," Tino said, smiling sweetly. Berwald looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Go ahead, Tino. We'd love to hear your song," Arthur said, taking a sip of his ale.

"_Kuulin äänen, kuulin, kuulin äänen kullaltani/Heläyksen, helä-heläyksen hertaltani/Luulin luona, luulin, luulin luona olleheni/Läsnä lämmitelle, läsnä lämmitelleheni._" The song was like a chant, mysterious and ancient sounding, but Tino's voice gave it energy and life. "_Kuulin äänen, kuulin, kuulin äänen kullaltani/Heläyksen, helä-heläyksen hertaltani/Luulin luona, luulin, luulin luona olleheni/Läsnä lämmitelle, läsnä lämmitelleheni._"

If Daniel's song had been 'pretty,' Tino's was beautiful, and everyone gathered in the kitchen stared at the Finnish man as he sang the last notes of the song.

"Wow, Tino, that was amazing," Amelia gasped. Tino turned brilliantly red.

"Well, thank you. I like that song a good bit," he said sheepishly.

The room went silent again as they all thought about various things.

"You know what I think we all need?" Miss Iona said, taking a step into the room. "I think we need to have ourselves a party or something, but not a party. More like a sharing of cultures. Each of us is from a different country, so undoubtedly we each have different folk stories and songs and dances. It would be something fun to liven up the mood before the final push to Russia."

They talked amongst themselves for a few minutes, debating her idea. Finally, Francis stood up with a smile.

"_Oui_, I think that would be perfect. When should we do it?" he said.

"How about after we leave Budapest. It's our last stop before St Petersburg. It makes sense," Miss Iona suggested, turning to look at the others. Everybody nodded or made noises of affirmation.

"Perfect. We'll buy the supplies while we're stopped in Hungary, and one night into the trip, we'll have ourselves a party. The voyage between Budapest and St Petersburg should last about three and a half days, and we might be stopping in Warsaw, but I'm not sure yet. This sounds like a brilliant plan, Iona," Arthur said.

"Miss Feliciana, will you sing your song now?" Stefan whispered loudly.

"_Si_! I would love to!" she said.

"Everybody, be quiet! Miss Feliciana's gonna sing a song for us, then it's bedtime!" Stefan announced. Everybody turned and stared at Feliciana, who yelped and hid her face in Ludwig's back.

"Come on, Miss Feli! You said you would!" Stefan yelled, poking her. Feliciana stuck her head out.

"Go on, stupid sister. Just sing before the kid starts whining," Romana huffed.

"_Ve~_ Okay," Feliciana said, her smile returning. "_Buonanotte, buonanotte amore mio,/buonanotte tra il telefono e il cielo./Ti ringrazio per avermi stupito,/per avermi giurato che è vero./Il granturco nei campi è maturo/ed ho tanto bisogno di te,/la coperta è gelata, l'estate è finita./Buonanotte, questa notte è per te._" Stefan swayed to the happy waltz sound of the song, his eyes closed in enjoyment.

"Amelia, may I have this waltz?" Arthur said with a laugh. Amelia stuck out her hand dumbly, and Arthur spun her into the center of the kitchen.

"Save it for the party, you two!" Antonio cried.

"_Buonanotte, buonanotte fiorellino,/buonanotte fra le stelle e la stanza, per sognarti, devo averti vicino,/e vicino non è ancora abbastanza./Ora un raggio di sole si è fermato/proprio sopra il mio biglietto scaduto./Tra i tuoi fiocchi di neve, le tue foglie di tè./Buonanotte, questa notte è per te."_

Berwald lifted Tino up out of his seat, and the two of them joined Arthur and Amelia, much to the amusement of others.

"Let them dance, Antonio. You can never have enough lightheartedness!" Sadik called, waggling his eyebrows at Heracles.

"_Buonanotte, buonanotte monetina,/buonanotte tra il mare e la pioggia,/la tristezza passerą domattina/e l'anello resterą sulla spiaggia,/gli uccellini nel vento non si fanno mai male,/hanno ali più grandi di me/e dall'alba al tramonto sono soli nel sole./Buonanotte, questa notte è per te,_" Romana sang along with her sister.

"_Tu voz es hermosa, Roma! Deberías cantar más a menudo!_" Antonio cried, throwing his arms around Romana.

"Get off of me, jerk bastard!" Romana yelled, though she didn't struggle against the Spaniard very much.

"Don't swear around Stefan, Romana!" Mircea exclaimed, running over and covering Stefan's ears.

"Big Brother, don't do that!" Stefan whined, swatting Mircea's hands away. Miss Iona walked over and gently removed Mircea's hands from Stefan's ears.

"He's a kid on a pirate ship, Mir. He's heard worse," she chuckled.

"Yeah, Mircea. Listen to Miss Iona because one day, she's gonna be your wife!" Stefan giggled, leaping off of the bench and into Mircea's arms. The entire room erupted into laughter while Mircea turned red.

"Stefan, I think it's bedtime for you," Sadik said with an apologetic glance towards Mircea.

"But I don't wanna go to bed! Brother, can I stay up a little longer? Please?" Stefan cried, giving Mircea a well-practised puppy-dog stare. Mircea looked at him resolutely, but quickly broke.

"_Da_, Stefan. You may stay up for ten more minutes, but no more. We can't have you all cranky and bleary-eyed in Venice," the Romanian sighed. Stefan hugged his brother tightly and squealed with delight.

"Yay! Big Brother is the best!"

The group spent those ten extra minutes playing games with Stefan while the captains, Berwald, and Miss Iona sat watching.

"You know, despite all of our differences and hesitancies in combining our crews, I don't think I've seen any group this size behave more like _una_ _familia_," Antonio said with a lazy smile.

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Toni. What do you think, Gil?" Francis said.

The Prussian didn't respond.

"I c'rt'nly feel 't home," Berwald added to the surprise of his sitting companions. This sent Antonio, Francis, Arthur, and Miss Iona into even more laughter.

After a while, Stefan came plodding up to Miss Iona and climbed into her lap, curling up against the young Scotswoman.

"Are you ready for bed, Stefan?" she asked softly. Stefan nodded drowsily. Iona motioned for Mircea to come over and get the child, knowing that she was still in no condition to be carrying him all the way to the room the three of them now shared, or to any room, for that matter.

"Brother, can I sleep in Uncle Sadik's room since I'm gonna be helping him tomorrow?" Stefan whispered.

"Of course, but we should still wait for Miss Iona," Mircea said, kneeling so that he was on the same level as his brother. He stole a glance up at Iona.

"I'll be up in a little while. I just have to help Gilbert and Daniel get ready for the night watch," she said as Mircea took Stefan into his arms. "Don't wait up for me, Mir. You look like you're about to pass out, too."

"Yes ma'am. Don't stay out too late, or else I might wake up and think you've fallen overboard," Mircea teased as he walked away, Stefan cradled like a baby in his arms.

**First Mate Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Gilbert, Daniel, and Iona waited until everyone had left the kitchen before quickly snuffing all of the lamps and locking down the rest of the ship.

"Mathias, navigate us around those clouds up ahead. I'd rather we not go through a thunderstorm," Gilbert commanded as they entered the bridge.

"Aye, sir," Mathias said, bowing his head respectfully.

"Captain, is there anything else you need me to do tonight?" Iona asked, pressing a few buttons that controlled the ship's environmental settings.

"_Nein_. You're excused, Miss Mackenzie," Gilbert said curtly, not even bothering to look at Iona.

"Thank you, Captain Beilschmidt," the Scotswoman said gently, smiling at him.

_God Almighty, I wish there were something I could do to mend things with him. I don't want to spend the rest of this trip on the receiving end of his anger. I just want my friend back_, Iona thought sadly as she walked back to her room alone.

She opened the door quietly and stepped into the dimly lit room, closing the door behind her as though she were shutting out the worries and troubles that always seemed to follow her. She slid down the door and sat on the tiled floor, allowing the light breathing of her sleeping companion diffuse the stress that had knotted itself in her muscles and her heart. Here, she felt safe in the presence of her best friend. Here, with Mircea, it felt like home again.

_"Home is not a physical place, Iona, darling," _her mother had once told her_. "Home is wherever you hang your heart, so choose your home wisely."_

"God, I'm glad I cleared things with Mir," she whispered, placing a palm on her forehead and pushing some stray hairs from her face. She stood and began the process of dressing for bed, trying to be as silent as possible so as to not wake Mircea while she pulled on a nightshirt she'd stolen from Dylan's house the last time she'd stopped by Cardiff. She was successful in her preparations right up until she walked towards the bed and stepped on one of the small wooden blocks Mathias had given Stefan. Iona hissed in pain, tripping over the hem of her robe, and fell face-first onto Mircea with a loud, "Oof!"

Mircea's eyes shot open and he looked around in alarm.

"Wha—? 'Ona, is that you?" he mumbled, trying to sit up, though he was held down by Iona still lying on his chest.

"_Jesus, Maìri, 'n' Joseph! that hurt lik' a motherfucking nail juist stabbed me in th' foot, dammit. Ah tellt Stefan tae pick they hings up!_" Iona growled, rolling off of Mircea and onto his other side. She lay face down on the mattress. Mircea, now fully awake, looked at her blankly for a moment before laughing quietly. He hadn't really understood a single word of what Iona had just said due to her accent, but he couldn't help but laugh at how...cute it was.

_When the hell did I start thinking that way? Mă transform în ceva romantic prostie, nu-i așa?_ he thought.

"Are you okay there, Captain Clumsy?" he said with a grin, poking her in the side. She swatted his hand away.

"Not now, Mir. I'm wallowing in my pain," Iona mumbled, curling away from him. Mircea poked Iona further until he had encircled her with both arms, attacking her from all sides. Iona giggled like a child and squirmed.

"Stop! I can't breathe!" she gasped, trying to escape. Mircea pretended to collapse on top of her, trapping the redhead in his embrace.

"Okay, I stopped," he teased. Suddenly, he felt something wet run up his neck. "Did you just...lick me?"

Iona grinned up at him. "Perhaps I did," she taunted. Mircea flashed his fangs at her, bending his head low over her neck.

"Rule number one of Romanian sorcerers: we always have fangs, and we're not afraid to use them. Rule number two: Never lick a Romanian sorcerer for the aforementioned reason," he whispered, letting the tip of one fang touch Iona's skin. The Scotswoman continued to squirm and try to wriggle out of his arms. She managed to turn over onto her stomach and curled up in a ball, effectively leaving her sides vulnerable. Mircea held her tighter, nearly lifting her off the bed. "Your logic is awful, you know that, right?"

"Doesn't matter. You're not getting anywhere near my neck," she said, voice muffled by the mattress. Mircea smiled slyly and brushed aside the curtain of mahogany-coloured hair from the back of her neck.

"You sure about that, 'Ona?" he asked, running a finger down her spine. Iona's head shot back, nearly hitting Mircea in the mouth, and certainly leaving him with a mouthful of long red hair. Taking advantage of her freedom and Mircea's distraction, Iona sat up, grinning evilly. She turned and tackled him, knocking him off the bed. He grabbed her and suddenly, both were in a heap on the floor, laughing and making faces at each other.

"Didn't realise you had a sensitive spot on the back of your neck," Mircea teased, getting up and walking back to the bed before sitting down cross-legged on it. Iona stretched out across his lap, reminding Mircea of a cat he'd once seen in some rich old lady's house before they looted the place.

"I didn't realise it either," Iona said, smiling up at him with eyes that, in this light, looked more green than grey.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, frozen in thought.

"What're you thinking about?" Mircea finally said. Iona looked away.

"I wish we didn't have to go on this suicide mission, because that's what it is: suicide. We're just a rag-tag group of twenty-eight people going up against a world power. There's no way we're going to make it through this. Not all of us," she replied, all mirth and giggles gone from her face. She sat up and curled herself against his chest, and Mircea was all too aware of how fragile she seemed at that moment. Through the thin fabric of the nightshirt, he could see the scar from where Arthur's spell had hit right above her heart, and his hand covered the stitches in her side as he held her close. Looking down into her face, Mircea saw even more cuts and bruises, some a few weeks old, some a few days old.

"Nonsense. We've got four sorcerers onboard this ship and tons of capable fighters, plus, if it comes down to it, we have two Italian virgins to sacrifice to the Russians," Mircea said jokingly. Iona stared at him icily.

"I'm serious, Mircea. Haven't you thought about this at all? What about Stefan? Have you thought about what you're about to lead him into? He's just a _bairn_. Surely you're not going to allow him to go to St Petersburg with us. Rumours are beginning to circulate that the nations of Europe have combined their air forces into one united air force in response to not only the Russian threat, but also in response to us. The entirety of Europe is out to get us, Mir. This is no place for a child," she said, weaving one of the ties of his shirt between her fingers.

"No, I haven't really thought about it. I don't want to think about it. I'm not sure what I'd do if I lost him again, and the thought makes me feel so ill," Mircea sighed, immediately sobering up at the look in the Scotswoman's eyes. "I wish we didn't have to do it either, Io. I wish we could be rid of this pirate stuff for good. There's nothing I wouldn't give to be able to find a nice place to live somewhere with Stefan." _And_ _you_._._. He added silently. He hugged Iona tighter, savouring the smell of caramel and whiskey that always seemed to hang on her person, mixed with the scent of Argan oil in her hair. Somehow, it calmed the knot of anxiety growing in his stomach enough that he felt well enough to lie down, bringing Iona with him. They lay there for a moment in somber silence, both caught in their own worlds. Mircea's mind didn't even register Iona's weight on his chest or the feel of her warmth through her robe.

"Hold on one moment," Iona said, sitting back up suddenly. Mircea lifted his head a little and looked at her questioningly. The redhead shrugged off her robe and threw it into the closet before returning to lay her head on Mircea's chest, her wild hair splaying out around her like some magnificent crown of roses across the white of the Romanian's shirt. Mircea almost immediately wrapped his arms around her again.

"I just feel like something's going to go horribly wrong, and somebody's going to get hurt, and Mircea, it scares me to death. It's there, it's always there, in the back of my mind; this clawing, screaming fear that doesn't go away," Iona whimpered, hiding her face in his shoulder. "What if I lose you or Arthur?"

"Iona, that won't happen. I promise. I'm not leaving you, and I can assure you that Arthur's not leaving you either," Mircea soothed. Iona nodded softly.

"Do you think we should try to get some sleep? We're going to have to be on our guards tomorrow since Lucius Vargas has it out for Captain Carriedo," she said, turning to face him. Mircea yawned in agreement.

"_Da_. Plus, attacking you wore me out," he said, touching her nose lightly.

They climbed under the blankets and snuggled close as though the other's presence kept the spectre of the impending attack on Russia away.

Iona was asleep before Mircea'd even finished getting comfortable, and the Romanian again found himself gazing at her features, trying his best to memorise the serenity of her sleeping face. She looked so much younger and more innocent in the mists of sleep, her pale face framed by red curls. Even the claw marks seemed to disappear as though they were simply manifestations of all of the worry and hurt she carried with her during waking hours. Despite the peace her face showed, her body language still screamed anxiety and fear. She held onto the front of Mircea's shirt tightly, and her shoulders were tense.

Mircea finally willed the lights off, his eyes briefly glowing red before the room descended into darkness. He quickly drifted off to sleep.

_Iona wasn't quite sure where she was, or even when or who she was, for that matter. She stood before a tall, white building that reminded her of a stepped wedding cake. Large grey airships floated above her, each of them flying the flag of the Russian Federation, looming like monsters in the otherwise clear blue sky. A few hundred yards away stood a young man with white hair and scarlet red eyes wearing a regal captain's uniform. He looked familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Likewise, behind her, she saw another young man with shaggy strawberry-blond hair and crimson eyes wearing a beautiful red coat with red and white striped cuffs. Suddenly, she heard the click of a gun being cocked, and right as a bullet whizzed past her ear, the building and the surrounding airships exploded. The man with white hair was in their path._

_"Gilbert!" she yelled as she watched him being swallowed up by flames._

Iona woke up with a scream and tears running down her face. She broke free of Mircea's embrace and sat up, glancing at the bright red numbers on the clock: 02:30.

"_Ce_ _este_? _Ce_ _sa_ _întâmplat_? Are you okay?" Mircea said, sitting up and placing a supportive hand on her back.

"Gilbert, I saw Gilbert die. So many flames, the smell of things burning, and a gunshot...oh God—" Iona sobbed, shivering.

"Iona, it was just a dream. We're safe. There are no explosions, nobody's dead. It's okay," Mircea said, stroking her hair.

"It was awful, Mir. It all seemed so real."

"I know, but it was only a dream. I'm here, I'll protect you," Mircea whispered. Iona lay back down, and allowed Mircea to envelope her in his embrace again, this time drifting into a dreamless sleep.

_Arthur sat at a table with three men whom he felt like he knew, but his mind didn't seem to be working correctly at that moment. The room was well-lit, though the world outside the window was grey and gloomy. A large shadow fell across the table, the shadow of a tall man with what looked to be a scarf hanging from his neck._

_"I welcome you all to my domain, Да?" the shadow said. Arthur could hear the smile in its voice. One of the men stood up to say something, a man with white hair and red eyes._

_In the blink of an eye, the shadow raised an arm, and Arthur could make out the shape of a gun in its hand._

_"No!—" Arthur yelled just as the gun was fired and a crimson flower burst from the white-haired man's chest. "Oh God—"_

Arthur woke up in a cold sweat, still confused from his dream until he heard Amelia's soft breathing from beside him. He noticed that it was only 03:45, and that he still had a few hours more to sleep.

"It was only a bad dream, Artie-lad," he told himself, breathing deeply before throwing an arm across Amelia's waist and settling back to sleep.

_Mircea recognised the city below him as he leaned over the railing of The Phoenix. They were flying over his home, Bucharest. A little ways away, another ship kept pace with The Phoenix, and Mircea noticed that two people were standing on the prow, locked in combat. One man was tall with a large build, made even larger by a heavy beige coat. He had a long, pale scarf flying behind him like a tail. The other man, to Mircea's surprise, was Captain Beilschmidt, and he looked badly wounded._

_"Căpitanul! Over here! Hold on a second, I'll come help you," Mircea yelled, but no sound came out. He flailed his arms for a moment, trying to get their attention, but the ships were too far apart for either man to notice the Romanian._

_Suddenly, a small carrier vessel appeared alongside the other ship, and the tall man jumped in, leaving Gilbert dazed and confused, too weak to yell at the man as he would have normally. As the small vessel sped away, a thunderous noise cut through the air, and the other ship, along with Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt, was enveloped in fire._

_"No! Captain! Iona! Mathias! Daniel! Somebody, help! We have to save him!" Mircea screamed. "Captain!"_

Mircea's eyes shot open, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness as he stared up at the ceiling. He turned to checked the clock: it was 05:00. Iona was curled up in the crook of his arm, her hands splayed across his chest, showing off the silver Claddagh ring she wore on her right hand.

_What an odd dream_, he thought, brushing his hair back from his forehead and closing his eyes again. He knew there would be no getting back to sleep for him, but he had to try anyways. He resolved to tell someone about his dream later in the morning.

_Lukas wandered aimlessly through what seemed to be a palace or some other important governmental building. It was covered in giant Russian flags on both the outside and the inside._

_"Looks like some awful work of propaganda," he murmured to himself. He did not like it one bit. He heard voices coming from the next room, and decided to go check it out._

_Sitting on a grand throne was a man whose picture Lukas had seen in the newspapers a lot recently: General Ivan Braginsky, head of the Russian Federation and a highly decorated general. He towered over another man who knelt on the floor._

_"You trespass on my territory, I break you, нет? Silly little German man, your moments are numbered," Braginsky said. His face was childish but cruel, the way a small boy would look at an ant as he burnt it using a magnifying glass._

_Lukas stepped forward to get a better look at the other man. He instantly realised who it was: Gilbert Beilschmidt._

_"This is what happens to naughty little boys who get too big for their britches, as you Westerners would say," Braginsky taunted as he raised a gun. Lukas lunged and tried to run towards them, but it was too late, and Gilbert fell to the floor, a single bullet hole in his head._

"_Kristus_, _den_ _allmektige_!" Lukas yelled as he woke up with such force that he fell off the bed. His brother-in-law-to-be, Mathias, just mumbled from the other side of the room, unbothered by the noise.

"That was one hell of a wake up call," Lukas muttered, looking at his watch. It was time to get up anyways, so he started the process of showering and getting dressed.

**Venice, Italy—March 22nd, 1890—10:00**

**Feliciana Vargas**

Feliciana felt impatient. Ludwig and _sorella_ and Captain Antonio were taking far too long to descend the gangplank, and she just wanted to go and see the sights of her childhood again. The ship was making this stop for the sole purpose of allowing the Vargas sisters to feel at home for a day before they made the treacherous journey into Russian-occupied lands, and by God, she wanted to enjoy it.

Finally, she couldn't wait any longer. She had to go and see her hometown again.

"I'll be back soon!" she chirped to no one in particular. With that, she skipped off into the crowds of people, humming cheerily.

Feliciana found her way to the Piazza San Marco, unbothered by the stares of people who recognised her.

"It's one of Lucius Vargas' granddaughters!"

"They've returned! They escaped from the pirates!"

Everywhere Feliciana went, the air buzzed with news of her and her sister's return, but the girl paid no mind to it.

She sat herself at a cafe and flagged down a waiter.

"_Signorina_ _Vargas_, what may I have the pleasure of serving you this fine day?" the young man asked with a smile. Feliciana seemed oblivious to the conniving edge to his voice.

"I'd like an _espresso_ and _biscotti_, _per_ _favore_," Feliciana replied. The waiter nodded and left. Ten minutes passed, and the waiter did not return. However, Ludwig, Antonio, and Romana found her.

"_Sorella_! _Dove_ _sei_ _stato_?" Romana cried, running up to her sister.

"_Ve~_ I've been here! You guys were taking too long," Feliciana said happily.

Just then, the waiter came back with Feliciana's order.

"Enjoy, _Signorina_ _Vargas_," he said in a sickly-sweet tone.

Feliciana hadn't taken more than two sips of her _espresso_ when a bunch of burly men approached the table and grabbed Ludwig and Antonio. Romana shrieked while Antonio tried to free himself. Ludwig simply stood there looking at Feliciana with sad eyes, occasionally straining slightly, but only halfheartedly. He seemed defeated before ever going into the metaphorical battle.

"What are you doing, bastardi? Unhand them this instant, or so help me—"

"_Mi_ _dispiace_, _signorina_, but we have orders from your grandfather," one of the men said.

"_Nonno_? Where is he?" Feliciana said with large amber eyes.

"Feli! Ludwig and Antonio are in danger! This is no time to get distracted," Romana scolded. She glanced at Antonio worriedly.

"We'll be okay, _mi_ _tomate_. You're home now," Antonio said with a sad smile. It took a few moments before it dawned on the sisters what he was saying.

"No! No, no, no, no, no! You are not leaving us here, _stronzo_-_bastardo_. We're part of your crew now, too," Romana said, lunging at Antonio. She was swatted away by the man holding the Spaniard.

"Get away from him, Lady Romana. He's a dangerous pirate," a female voice cooed. A short woman with a long brown braid and glasses stepped out from behind the men.

"W-who are you?" Feliciana squeaked, intimidated by the woman's stare.

"Cecile d'Arcy, bounty hunter extraordinaire, at your service, my dears," the woman said with a curtsey.

"What do you want with 'Tonio, _puttana_?" Romana demanded, stepping up and getting in d'Arcy's face.

"Your grandfather hired me to take down the men who kidnapped you two, and the United European Air Force hired me to take down some of their associates. I'm just doing my job," Cecile shrugged. She snapped her fingers and the men pushed Antonio and Ludwig towards the exit of the gated area.

"Wait...The 'United European Air Force'?" Ludwig asked.

"_Oui_. The UEA—"

"What the hell is that?_"_

"Oh, you pirates haven't heard? The governments of Europe have decided to combine their air forces indefinitely under one international force. It's a new thing, but even puppies have sharp teeth. Just wait until it grows up," d'Arcy purred. "Now then, there's no time to waste. Come along boys."

She and her thugs turned to leave with Antonio and Ludwig in tow.

"Please don't hurt them," Feliciana cried.

"I make no promises, dearies," Cecile said with a wink. "Now, Captain Carriedo, want to tell me where the rest of your filthy pirate friends are? We've already located your ship, but apparently, it's empty. Speak now, or else I'll make you speak."

"_Dios te salve María, llena eres de gracia, El Señor es contigo. Bendita tú eres entre las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de la muerte. Amén_," Antonio whispered. "I'll never betray my friends."

"Is that so? Maybe your compatriot here will tell us."

Ludwig looked at d'Arcy in horror. "_Nein_. I will stand by my captain and my friends."

"Very well then. Boys, throw them into the canal and make sure they don't come back up."

The thugs forced Ludwig and Antonio down onto their knees, holding both men in such a way that there was no fighting or struggling, only compliance.

"Wait!" a new voice called across the piazza. Arthur, Gilbert, and Francis came running towards the group, knocking over tourists and vendors alike.

"Oh my, looks like you boys got lucky. Your friends turned themselves in," d'Arcy sneered.

"_Qui_ _êtes_-_vous_?" Francis snapped, drawing his revolver and pointing it at the young woman.

"Oh, Francis, dear, don't you recognise me?" d'Arcy purred. Francis' mouth was agape, but he made no sound.

D'Arcy removed her glasses and untied her braid, and Francis' face contorted into a mask of absolute abject horror and terror.

"Cecile?" he breathed.

"There we go, Bonnefoy. After you left me, I decided to stop wallowing in my hatred and do something about it. You'll never guess who shares the number one spot on my list with these three?" d'Arcy said. She snapped her fingers, and immediately, more men came and grabbed the other three captains. Arthur's eyes briefly lit up emerald-green, but he was quickly jabbed at a pressure point, breaking his focus and blocking his flow of magic. Francis was too stunned to do anything more than point the revolver, and it was swiftly taken from him. Gilbert managed to punch one of the hired muscles in the face and knee another in the groin, but he too was tackled to the ground and pinned under the weight of three more thugs.

"What are you doing?" Romana yelled.

"I told you, you silly girl: my job."

Cecile led her men away from the Vargas sisters and disappeared into the backstreets of Venice.

"_Mio Dio_, what do we do?" Romana whimpered, grabbing her sister's hand.

"It'll be okay, Roma. We'll get them back, and we'll even get to see _Nonno_!" Feliciana chirped.

"How? We can't fight, we don't know where they are. Feli, we're useless. Get that through your head."

"We might be useless, but the rest of the crew isn't. I know where to find Mister Lukas, and he can contact the others," Feliciana said in a moment of seriousness. Romana looked up at her in awe.

"That's brilliant, Feli. Come on, let's go," she said. Feliciana dragged her to a large house near the Bridge of Sighs, and ducked inside. It was completely devoid of any furnishings and other such comforts, and their footsteps echoed on the marble floors.

**30 Minutes Later**

**Lukas Erickson**

"_C'è qualcuno in casa?_" a young Italian girl yelled. Lukas didn't speak Italian, but he could guess what she was saying.

"_Vi er oppe_. Who goes there?" he answered in a cold, dull voice.

"It's Feliciana and Romana. Is everyone up there?"

"Come up here. We're not going to leave this level," said Emil, just as cold and dull as his brother. The two girls hurried up the stairs, and were greeted by the expectant faces of most of the crew of _The_ _Phoenix_, minus Stefan, Sadik, Ludwig, and the four captains.

"Where are Carriedo and Beilschmidt the Younger?" Jack asked.

"Hell, where are all of the captains? They said they'd be back thirty minutes ago along with Mister Meathead," Mathias added.

Romana looked down at the floor and Feliciana stammered incoherently.

"Where are they, girls?" Iona echoed.

"They've been taken by a bounty hunter working for...working for—"

"For whom are they working?" Kiku said.

"The bounty hunter is working for our _Nonno_! He believes that Antonio kidnapped us, and that lady already had the other three on her list, and it's all my fault that they were caught," Feliciana wailed, falling into Iona's arms. Amelia stared at them in shock, her blue eyes wide and scared.

"We need to go save them," Romana said.

"Do you even know where they are?" Lukas said.

"That's why we came to you, Mister Lukas. We thought that maybe you could use your magic to find them," Feliciana sniffed. Lukas considered her words for a moment.

"_Ja_, okay. Does anyone have something that belongs to one of the captains? A lock of hair, a piece of jewellery, something like that?"

Everybody murmured amongst themselves.

"Like, _nie_, _nie_ _mam_," Feliks said.

"I don't," Heracles yawned, petting a cat that had perched on his lap.

"Wait—I might have something," Amelia offered. She pulled the high-necked collar of her blouse down to reveal a simple black choker necklace with a small jewel embedded in the centre.

"That belongs to...Arthur?" Iona said, cocking an eyebrow.

"It's one of his souvenirs from his adventures. He gave it to me last night," Amelia said, glowering at the Scotswoman.

"It'll do. I need complete silence for this. Mircea, Iona, I might need your help, much as I hate to say it," Lukas said. The other two sorcerers nodded.

Amelia removed the necklace and placed it in Lukas' outstretched hand.

"Both of you focus your energy on things that might have been, things that were lost before they could be found," Lukas commanded as Iona and Mircea flanked him and laid their hands on his shoulders.

The room went deadly silent, and for Lukas, the world blacked out.

It came back into focus, except it was a different world from the one he'd left. He stood in the backyard of his home in Norway, a light snow falling from the sky.

_"Pappa! Opp! Opp," a small boy with pale blond hair cried, stretching his arms upwards. Lukas bent down and picked the child up._

_"Where's your mother, Little One?" he asked the boy._

_"I'm here," a familiar woman with long blonde hair said. "I've been at San Giorgio Maggiore."_

_Lukas smiled at her, looking deep into her bright blue eyes._

_This is what could've been had I not joined Kirkland's crew. I would've married Anna Køhler, he thought._

_"Thank you, dear, for telling me," he said._

The scene faded and the real world came back into view. Iona was the next to come out of her trance, and the look on her face was sad and wistful. Finally, Mircea shuddered back into reality, and, quite honestly, Lukas thought, he looked relieved.

"They've been taken to the Island of San Giorgio Maggiore," Lukas announced, meeting the worried eyes all trained on him.

"How do we get there?" Daniel asked.

"The same way everyone gets around Venice: we take a boat," Romana answered.

"Alright. Does anyone here have a boat?" Mathias said.

"We do," Feliciana chirped. "Well, we know how to get one—"

"—but we'll need your magic again to get it," Romana supplied.

"What do you need?" Mircea said.

"Do you know how to leave hints in a person's mind? I once heard about a magician doing that, so maybe you could do it?" Feliciana said meekly.

"_Da_! I used to do that all the time on the streets in Bucharest—" Mircea started to exclaim, but froze when the name of his home city left his lips. The nightmare...He still hadn't told anyone about it.

"Well, you gonna do it, or not?" Romana huffed. Mircea shook his head clear.

"Yes. Who needs a bug in their ear?"

"..._Nonno_," both girls said at once. Mircea stared at them for a moment.

"So you want me to invade the mind of your..._bunic_? I'm not sure how I feel about planting a thought in some old guy's head," he said warily. Iona glared at him.

"If he won't, then I will," she said with a pointed look. "I'm not losing another brother when I've only just found him."

"No, no. I'll do it," Mircea sniffed. "You don't even have a handle on that spell yet, Io. It'd be dangerous."

Iona continued to glare but made no further argument. The entire room watched with bated breath as Mircea's eyes began to glow an eerie crimson.

"_Sorella_, _ho_ _paura_. He's all creepy," Feliciana whimpered. Romana shushed her.

Lukas had to admit that he was a little impressed. He'd sensed that the Romanian was powerful when they'd first...met, but now he was really beginning to see the depths of Mircea's abilities. However, along with those depths, a clear picture of the darkness within Mircea was also beginning to form, and it made Lukas nervous. He'd heard about the younger man's use of one of the ancient spells, and Miss Amelia had spared no details in describing how Mircea had grinned and laughed at Arthur's screams. Lukas wondered how long it would be until they had to rein the man in.

"There. I've 'suggested' to him that he needs to send his largest boat to the Grand Canal for us to pick up. Hopefully, he won't question his own logic," Mircea finally said.

"Perfect. Now, who will go with me to save the captains and Mister Beilschmidt?" Lukas said.

"Wait a second. Who made you leader?" Jack cried. "We're talking about saving my cousin."

"Oh, hush, Jonathan. He may be your cousin, but he's my brother," Iona scolded.

"And Artie's my boyfriend!" Amelia added.

"Yeah, and Francis is my cousin," Matthew said, though no one seemed to hear him.

The entire room now buzzed with angry voices in heated arguments over who would be the leader of the rescue mission.

Suddenly, a gunshot went off and everyone went silent. Vash stood in the corner, a pistol still raised into the air, pointed at the brilliant blue sky overhead.

"Will all of you just shut up?" he yelled. "Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to save them, so just stop your arguing. I hate getting involved in anything like this, but I elect myself as the leader of this mission because dammit, we have a job to do."

The others stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded.

"I, as first mate of _The_ _Phoenix_, second Mister Zwingli's self-election," Iona finally said. One by one, everyone else added words of agreement.

"Hmph. How fun. Lukas, Iona, Mircea, and Amelia will go with me. Everybody else, stay here."

"Hey! What about us? It'll be ten times better if you bring the two of us!" Romana cried, gesturing to her sister. Vash considered this for a moment.

"Yes, fine, but the moment you get in my way, consider yourselves retired."

**Island of San Giorgio Maggiore, Italy—March 22nd, 1890—12:15**

**Vash Zwingli**

"Remember everyone, we have to be quiet if we want this plan to work," Vash hissed.

"What's the signal again? I kinda forgot," Amelia laughed sheepishly. She scratched the back of her head with the tip of her revolver.

"Don't do that! Are you a damn fool?" Vash scolded.

"No, I know gun safety, Mister Hedgehog. Calm down, man. Now seriously, how will we know that it's safe?" Amelia said.

"Romana said that she would leave the door open for us. That's the signal. First, we have to let them get inside the house, so stop talking. I need to pay attention," Vash growled.

"Have we already told Mathias to have _The_ _Phoenix_ on hand so we can get outta here as soon as possible?" Mircea asked.

"Yes, I have the Dane on standby," Lukas replied.

"Oh, my girls! My precious baby granddaughters! I'm so happy that you're safe!" a loud voice rang out. The others turned their attention to the front door of the mansion where a tall, muscular Italian man was embracing the Vargas sisters, yelling happily in Italian.

"_Si_, _Nonno_, we're safe," Feliciana chirped, nuzzling her grandfather's shoulder.

"Those awful men didn't hurt you, did they? Have they done anything to you? Do I need to give orders to make their deaths as horrible and painful as can possibly be imagined?" Lucius Vargas said, looking from one granddaughter to the other.

"No, _Nonno_, they were all very honourable. Even Captain Carriedo, the dreaded pirate, was very kind to us," Romana said.

"Doesn't matter, dear. They're still pirates, and they will be executed by nightfall," Lucius said coldly.

"Oh God..." Amelia whispered. Iona placed a comforting hand on the American's shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Amelia, dear. We'll save them before that happens," Iona soothed with a glare in Lucius Vargas' direction.

They watched as the older man escorted his granddaughters into the house. Romana, true to her word, made sure to leave the door open.

"That's our cue. Iona, Mircea, and Lukas, you three know what to do?" Vash said, looking at his companions. The three sorcerers nodded.

"Alright. Amelia, you stay with me. Whichever one of you finds them first, contact the others and start trying to free them immediately. Good luck."

The group dispersed, sneaking in one at a time so as to not arouse suspicion.

Vash and Amelia crept silently down the basement hallway, checking all doors and coming up empty.

"Where d'ya suppose they could be?" Amelia said nervously.

"Obviously not here. Don't ask stupid questions," Vash replied. Amelia pouted but kept her mouth shut after that.

They heard voices coming from the floor above them, and it was obvious that Lucius Vargas was more than overjoyed to see his granddaughters again. Vash just hoped that they could keep the politician occupied long enough that the captains could be found and rescued.

_No sign of them on the second floor_, Iona's voice said in the back of Vash's mind.

_Nothing on the third, either,_ Mircea added, his voice echoing inside the Swiss man's subconscious.

They heard nothing from Lukas for a very long time, until finally, with a mental sigh of resignation, _I think I've found them. That bounty hunter's perfume is distinctive._

Vash nodded at Amelia, confirming that she'd also 'heard' Lukas' message, and they found their way to the fourth floor where they met back up with the others.

"So how do we go about this?" Mircea said.

"She's going to have her goons with her, plus whatever reinforcements Vargas has sent, so we'll need to be careful. The three magicians should hold off as many people as possible. Amelia and I will go for d'Arcy herself and set about freeing the captains and Ludwig. Once all threats have been incapacitated, we make a run for it and get on the ship immediately," Vash said authoritatively.

"Right-o!" Iona said with a grin.

She, Lukas, and Mircea approached the entrance to the room.

"_Ainsi, mes amis, comment voulez-vous mourir?_" Cecile d'Arcy purred, circling the bound captives like a shark circling its prey.

"Cecile, my dear, if this is about that month in Paris, leave these other four out of it," Francis said, his face and tone serious. D'Arcy threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh you poor dear, this isn't about just you. Four out of the five of you are wanted pirates. The fifth, while technically a 'privateer,' is still guilty of association with and giving aid to pirates. There's a nice sum of money on all of your heads, and by God, I want that money."

"Come on, _Bonita_, why don't we stop all of this talk of execution and piracy, and enjoy a nice cup of coffee together? That sounds good, _sí_?" Antonio said sheepishly.

"Quiet, fool. Since you all won't answer my question, I suppose that means you're allowing me to end your pathetic lives however I want. Boys, leave me and these five men alone for a bit. I have work to do," d'Arcy said, brandishing a knife.

As the men filed out of the room, the three sorcerers used all manner of spells to knock them out or otherwise subdue them.

"Stop right there, you stupid Frenchie!" Amelia yelled, charging into the room. She lunged for d'Arcy's knife, only to receive a swift kick to the solar plexus. In return, Amelia pulled out her revolver again, aimed at d'Arcy's flouncy pink hairbow, and shot, creating a perfectly round hole in one of the straight pieces.

"Next time, bitch, I'll aim for your heart," she growled.

D'Arcy came dangerously close to Amelia and managed to nick her cheek while also delivering a hard punch to the chest.

"Hey! That's my girlfriend, you bitch!" Arthur cried. Cecile gave a loud whistle, and suddenly, a large group of men flooded the room.

"Take care of these miscreants while I take care of their captains," the Monacan sneered. The goons engaged the rescue party immediately, but Amelia was undeterred. She pushed away her attackers and once more went for d'Arcy.

"You're mine, princess," the American spat, punching the brunette in the nose. Cecile clawed at Amelia, while Vash used the opportunity to free the five captives.

"Come on, we need to get out of here," he hissed, but all five stood their ground.

"Not without our friends," Antonio said, grabbing his battle axe from its spot in the corner of the room. The other captains and Ludwig followed his example, picking up their confiscated weapons from around the room.

"Let's do this," Gilbert growled.


	20. Chapter 20: La Valse Des Monstres

**Vargas Mansion, Island of San Giorgio Maggiore, Italy—March 22nd, 1890—13:30**

**Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo**

"Toni, watch out!" Gilbert yelled as Antonio dodged a kick. He hit his attacker in the stomach with the blunt end of his axe, and swung the weapon in a wide arc to ward off any potential assailants. Nearby, Arthur was shooting spells at a particularly bulky man, his green eyes glowing radioactively. Amelia was locked in combat with d'Arcy, though it was unclear who was winning. Antonio had a feeling that if the American didn't find a weapon of some sort within the next few moments, d'Arcy would come out on top.

"Lukas, contact the others and tell them to get the ship here ASAP! We need to leave," Vash called. He dodged a bullet and shot his own gun, hitting one of d'Arcy's goons in the chest.

The entire scene was complete chaos, and Antonio knew things were about to get much worse if they didn't leave soon. He regretted his bold statement and decision to fight, because, honestly, things were quickly descending into madness. The sounds of footsteps running up the stairs thundered above the din of the fight, and the pirates had very little time before they were doomed.

"Where are the Vargas sisters?" he asked, directing his question at Iona.

"I'm"— she punched an Italian soldier in the nose— "a little"— she dropped to the floor and dodged a spray of bullets— "busy right now," she said through gritted teeth, springing back up and launching a vicious cloud of crackling blue magic at a trio of thugs.

"Just tell me where they are!" Antonio cried, swinging his axe around and nicking one man in the arm.

"Downstairs with their grandfather. Go get them and take them outside to the front lawn if it's that important to you, Carriedo, though I thought you'd given up on keeping them around," Iona said, swiping an attacker with her nails.

"Not if they're going to be surrounded by this sort of craziness," Antonio said.

"Then go find them."

Antonio nodded and ran out of the room, amazed at how he'd been able to escape.

He pressed himself against the wall as two more soldiers ran in the direction of the fight, but continued down the stairs.

"Romana! Feliciana! _¿Dónde estáis_?" he yelled.

"Oh no you don't, you little Spanish _suino_! Don't come any closer," an angry Italian voice barked. Antonio found himself facing Lucius Vargas, and immediately stopped.

"Captain Antonio, get out of here," Feliciana cried from behind her grandfather.

"Not without you two. I changed my mind. I want you both to stay aboard _The_ _Phoenix_. Come on, the ship is waiting outside," Antonio said.

"Shut up, pirate scum. My _nipoti_ aren't going anywhere with you, not now that I have them back," Vargas hissed. He raised a gun and aimed at Antonio. "Obviously, Signorina d'Arcy couldn't do her job correctly, but I won't fail."

"Toni, please leave now before he shoots you," Romana said pleadingly.

"Hush, Romana. I'm not sure what sort of trash this pirate scum has been putting in your mind, but you're obviously not thinking straight if you're trying to help him," Vargas said.

"They took us in after the mansion was attacked by those Russian thugs, _Nonno_. They're our friends! Hell, Toni is...well, he's more," Romana said.

"Yeah, _Nonno_. Please be nice to them!" Feliciana added.

"You've both been brainwashed, and I will not stand for my precious girls to continue living with pirates."

Suddenly, the house rocked, and glass rained down both inside and out. The hull of _The_ _Phoenix_ hovered in front of them. Antonio took the opportunity to rush behind Vargas, grab Romana and her sister, and dash out the door.

"Down here! Quickly!" Antonio yelled, waving his arms and his axe. A ladder descended and the Vargas sisters quickly jumped on.

"Toni, grab my hand," Romana screamed as the ship began to rise higher into the air. At the very last moment, Antonio made a leap of faith, and caught the young woman's hand as they ascended into the body of the ship and away from d'Arcy's guns.

The rest of the rescue team and the captives sat in the airlock, waiting for their friends. When Feliciana, Romana, and Antonio came into view, the room echoed with cries of joy and relief.

Feliciana leapt into Ludwig's arms.

"_Sono così felice che tu sia al sicuro, Ludwig. Ero così preoccupato e mi dispiace tanto! E 'tutta colpa mia!_" Feliciana wailed, burying her face in Ludwig's chest. The German, still in shock from what he had just experienced, wrapped his arms around the girl, his face turning only slightly pink.

"That's not going to be the last we see of Cecile d'Arcy, you know. She's a persistent _mademoiselle_," Francis warned.

"Actually, it will be. Amelia managed to..._neutralise_ her. She won't be going after anyone for a year or two at least. For now, though, we have a mission to focus on. The journey to Budapest should take about two days. Use those days to rest and recover because it will be our last stop in unoccupied land. After Budapest, we'll be in Russian territory, and apparently, we now have the combined air forces of all of Europe after us" Gilbert huffed. He surveyed the group. Nobody seemed too badly injured, thankfully. "Miss Mackenzie, tend to everyone's injuries."

"Alright, Captain Beilschmidt. Since you're giving the order, you should be the first one looked at," Iona said coldly. Antonio watched as Gilbert blanched, stuttered, and gave in. He also noticed that the Prussian man had a piece of blue and silver fabric sticking out of his back pocket.

Wordlessly, Romana came up behind Antonio and wrapped her arms around his midsection.

"Don't ever do that to me again, _bastardo_. I was worried about you," she mumbled. Antonio grinned and turned around.

"_No lo haré, Roma. Prometo_," he said, hugging her close and placing a kiss on top of her head.

"Oi, lovebirds, I need to borrow Captain Carriedo," Iona called with a sly smile.

"What did you just call us?" Romana snapped.

"_Cálmate_, Roma. She was just joking," Antonio soothed. He broke away from the Italian girl and walked over to Iona.

"It's not like that. I just...I, well, I just don't think anyone else could take his place in this stupid hierarchy because nobody else is as stupidly cheerful and goofy all the time," Romana stuttered.

"Whatever you say, Miss Vargas," Iona teased.

**_The Phoenix—_March 22nd, 1890—16:50**

**Ludwig Beilschmidt**

Ludwig sighed. Had he really asked Lucius Vargas for permission to court Feliciana? Not only that, had he asked while being tied up as Vargas' prisoner for being a pirate? What had been going through his mind? He glanced over at Feliciana who was curled up on one of the window seats, sound asleep after an eventful morning.

"_Mein_ _Gott_, I'm glad she wasn't around for that part," he mumbled, staring up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the third deck. He really didn't want to have to explain it all to her.

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 22nd, 1890—19:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

Arthur didn't want to help plan the party, but somehow, he still ended up in the meeting room, going over what they needed to buy in Budapest with his sister, Antonio, Mircea, and Mathias. Daniel occasionally popped in to give them information about Budapest, but he seemed fairly occupied, muttering something about a girl named Theresa and flowers every time he walked in and out.

"Obviously we're going to need to clear out half of the third floor, preferably the half near the stage. Hell, we could clear the entire deck out, but that might raise questions about space and necessity," Iona said, reading off of a list she'd scribbled earlier in the day as a form of distraction from the morning's events.

"What about alcohol?" Mathias asked, earning a glare from the Scotswoman.

"Is that all you think about, Mat?" she sighed. Mathias turned bright red.

"No, but it is important for a party after all," he said sheepishly. Iona scribbled something onto her list.

"We'll look into alcohol, _dinna_ _fash_ _yirsel_," Iona said with a wave of her hand.

"So when do we land in Budapest exactly?" Mircea said.

Iona looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and bemusement on her face.

"Haven't you been paying attention, Mir? Three days until Budapest, then straight on till St Petersburg," she replied. Mircea nodded and returned to tossing a small glass globe into the air and catching it swiftly.

Arthur wished more than anything that he could go join Amelia in their room to vent his...frustrations, but instead, his darling sister had pulled the reconciliation card on him, and he was stuck there.

This bloody party had better be damn good, he thought to himself.

**_The_ _Phoenix_, Budapest Aerodrome, Budapest, Hungary—March 25th, 1890—09:00**

**Daniel Héderváry**

Daniel was glad to be back in his home city. Not much had changed in the three years that he'd been absent, and it was comforting to know that everything was still basically where he left it. His green eyes scanned the aerodrome dock as he descended the ramp, and his face immediately lit up when he found who he was looking for.

"Theresa!_ Az én szép lány!_" he cried, running down the gangplank and tackling a young woman with long brown hair. She had one stray curl sticking up the top of her head, and deep purple eyes that slightly sparkled when she saw the Hungarian running towards her.

"You're late, Daniel," she sniffed, but gave a small smile.

"You made it, 'Resa! You made it. Oh, I'm so happy to see you," Daniel exclaimed, hugging the young woman close. She looked like a purple-painted piece of wood in his arms, her body rigid and awkward at the affection.

"Behave yourself, Daniel. Wouldn't want your little...friends to think you're a child," Theresa scolded as the rest of _The_ _Phoenix's_ crew walked onto the dock.

"Hold on a second, Dan! You never said you had a girlfriend!" Mathias crowed, running up to the couple.

"That's because I don't," Daniel said, grabbing Theresa's hand. "I have a fiancée."

"Theresa Edelstein, it's a pleasure," Theresa said, extending her hand to Mathias. The Dane shook it with enough force to knock the young woman off balance.

"Careful there, Mathias," Tino warned. Theresa eyed the group of pirates warily.

"So you're going to be our guide around Budapest? You don't look very Hungarian to me," Arthur said. He had just joined the group with Amelia in tow.

"That's because I'm Austrian. Now, are we going to stand around all day and chit chat or are we actually going to go to the market? Daniel tells me that you all have quite the lengthy supply list and a very strict timetable," Theresa sniffed. Iona stepped forward, albeit involuntarily as she was forced to step forward by Stefan, Mircea, and Sadik.

"This is the lady you should be talking to!" Stefan chirped.

"Enough of this silliness. She's right. We're on a schedule. Come on boys, let's divide and conquer," Iona snapped.

Theresa led them to the market, a lively scene filled to the brim with people yelling and laughing and arguing about prices.

"Everything you need can be found here. Daniel tells me that you all have five hours here before you have to leave again. What I would suggest is forming smaller teams and sending each team to procure a different item. Everyone meet back here in five hours. In the meantime, I have some piano pieces to show my dear fiancé, so if you'll excuse us, we'll see you all in a little while," she said.

They all split up, some to get food, others to get replacement parts for instruments, and others to get alcohol.

All the while, Daniel and Theresa sat at the piano in Daniel's apartment, which Theresa was the house sitter for, and talked about music for five hours, with Daniel occasionally stealing a chaste kiss from his uppity lover. He was so glad the captains were giving him time off for loyalty.

**Budapest, Hungary—March 25th, 1890—12:00**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

Gilbert was very glad he did not have to go into the market. Instead, he'd been assigned to recon work on a tip from Viktor, sniffing out any information about General Braginsky and his whereabouts. After paying off a few people and having to call the Bulgarian a few times, he'd finally been pointed to a fairly sketchy part of town where Russian soldiers were rumoured to have set up base. He'd managed to find himself a Russian uniform and hat, knowing that his hair would easily give him away if he wasn't careful.

"All of these stupid Westerners have been sending ships toward St Petersburg, thinking Big Brother is there. I'm amazed at how silly they all are. Big Brother is too smart to go straight back to his home after he's pissed off the rest of Europe. Don't they know that he has a centre of operations in Bucharest? It's probably better this way, though. Big Brother isn't at risk," he heard a woman say in a thickly accented voice. Gilbert leapt behind a nearby desk so that he could listen to their conversation.

"Don't say that too loudly, Natalya. Somebody might hear you," another woman said.

"I wouldn't worry, Yekaterina. Nobody's here," the first woman, Natalya, said.

"I suppose," Yekaterina sighed.

"After tomorrow, we won't be here either. Brother is calling us back to Bucharest to be with him. Maybe he's finally come to his senses and realised that I would make a good wife for him," Natalya grumbled.

"Or perhaps he wants his closest advisors to be with him," Yekaterina added. Natalya grunted, and the two women went quiet.

After a little while, Gilbert heard them get up and leave, and he took it as his cue to head back to the ship to tell the others about what he'd heard.

_Guess we're diverting to Bucharest_, he thought to himself.

**Budapest, Hungary—March 25th, 1890—14:00**

**Engineer Viktor Aleksandrov**

"Viktor, you were right. I got some really interesting information from that place you told me about," Gilbert said as he grabbed a glass of beer from the bar area of the third deck.

"Of course. It's all about knowing where to look, sir," Viktor said politely.

"Do you think we should divert our course? The others might not be too happy about it, and we're already on a suicide mission. I'd rather not raise tensions any more than they are," Gilbert sighed.

"Honestly, sir, I think we should. It'll give us a chance to surprise Braginsky. He won't expect us to know that he's not in Russia, so he'll most likely set a trap in St Petersburg."

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 25th, 1890—15:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"You want to do what?" Arthur asked, looking at Gilbert incredulously.

"We need to divert to Bucharest, _dummkopf_. Braginsky has a hideout there, and those women I heard said that when Braginsky's not in St Petersburg, it becomes a total trap. If we go to Russia now, it would be suicide," Gilbert snapped.

"Bucharest is in almost the complete opposite direction. This is ridicul—"

"But Braginsky isn't in St Petersburg, Kirkland. He's in Bucharest. Our mission is to make him pay for what he did, so it makes more sense to go where he—"

"The Russian base of operations is in St Petersburg. You may be out for blood, Beilschmidt, but I plan to do something about the entire Federation, not just Braginsky. It's my job as a privateer under the service of Her Majesty, Quee—"

"_Mes_ _amis_, stop this silly fighting. It won't get us anywhere. Perhaps Gilbert has a point, Angleterre. Three out of four of us want vengeance, meaning that you're outnumbered. If we get Braginsky out of the way, the entire Russian Federation will collapse, killing two birds with one stone, no?" Francis interjected. He sat at the head of the table with a coy smile that made Arthur want to punch him.

"It still doesn't seem wise to divert so far south. Have you talked to the crew about this? We're already on a suicide mission, and I think that changing course to follow a questionable lead is a bad idea," Arthur sniffed.

"Again, Kirkland, you're outvoted. I say that we follow this lead. We won't tell the crew until tomorrow morning," Gilbert said.

"You mean when we arrive in Bucharest? It's not very far from Budapest. We're on the very edge of free territory, and even that isn't very free. If we go to Bucharest, we have to contend with the Russians plus the UEAF. It makes more sense to take care of one hostile party before we take care of the other. Once we cross over into Romania, we're in the enemies' domain. Once we cross into St Petersburg, we're in just one enemy's domain," Arthur said contemptibly.

"We let them have the party tonight. We only tell Berwald and Iona and Heracles, and swear them to secrecy, we arrive in Bucharest, attack, and then get the hell out of there. Easy enough," Gilbert shrugged.

"What about attacking the head of an entire federation is 'easy' in any way? Especially if we hold this party tonight, which we certainly plan to, and everyone is drinking. That's just bad news," Arthur clipped.

"Why should we keep everyone in the dark about this?" Francis asked.

"Because I don't want to ruin tonight for the crew. We all need it, and the extra burden will dampen the mood," Gilbert replied.

_Plus, once they hear that I was the one who voted to go ahead with the party, they'll be more likely to support me when I steal this ship,_ Gilbert thought to himself.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Antonio raising his hand.

"Seriously, _amigos_, stop this. Arthur, I'm sorry, but we've made a decision. Gilbert, don't be a jerk about this," Antonio said. Gilbert and Arthur glared at each other, but didn't say anything else.

"I'll go ahead and tell Heracles to change our course. Don't let anyone in on this," Francis sighed. "Arthur, will you go and let Iona and Berwald know?"

"Yes, I suppose I will. They'll probably be on the third floor. I think my sister conscripted Berwald and Mathias to help set up for this evening," Arthur replied.

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 25th, 1890—20:00**

**First Mate Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"What a nice party you've set up, Miss Mackenzie," Viktor purred, surprising Iona. She hadn't heard him walk up behind her, and jumped a few inches in the air as a result.

"Everybody chipped in, Mister Aleksandrov. I'm just excited to hear what songs everybody is bringing to the table," Iona said, recovering.

"_Da_, that certainly is exciting. Do you plan to sing for us?"

"Perhaps I will. Depends upon how many people ask me and how much alcohol I drink."

"I look forward to it. That's a lovely dress, by the way. It looks expensive. Far outside of a pirate's league." Viktor said, walking away.

The odd gleam in Viktor's eyes sent a shiver down Iona's spine completely independent of the cool air blowing on her bared shoulders. She'd brought out an old favourite dress of hers, a simple storm-cloud-blue, long-sleeved dress that her mother had given her upon graduation from finishing school. It made her feel more feminine due to its off-the-shoulder style, and tonight, she felt like being a bit more feminine than usual. She wasn't Iona the first mate or Iona the sorceress. She was Iona the available young lady, and it made her happy to be so.

She felt someone throw an arm around her shoulders, immediately warming her up a little.

"You look very nice this evening, _draga_ _mea_."

"You don't look half bad yourself, Mircea. You certainly know how to clean yourself up," Iona teased, scooting a little closer to her best friend in an effort to warm up more.

"It's not difficult to drag a brush through your hair every once in a while when you want to look decent," Mircea said with a laugh. Iona chuckled and grabbed a drink from a nearby table. Mircea did the same and looked her in the eye.

"What shall we toast to?" he said.

"Hmmm...How about we toast to success?" Iona suggested.

"That's boring though," Mircea whined jokingly. Iona cocked an eyebrow, but continued thinking.

"I've got nothing," Iona finally said resignedly.

"We should toast to success together," Mircea quipped.

"So you didn't like my idea, but you basically just suggested the same idea with one modification?" Iona said.

"Exactly," Mircea said, poking Iona in the side. She jumped a little but quickly recovered.

"Very well then. Here's to success together," Iona said, raising her glass a little. Mircea did the same and clinked his glass against hers.

"To success together," he echoed.

"Brother! Up! Up!" Stefan cried, running up to them and tugging on Mircea's pant leg. Mircea quickly downed his drink, set the glass back on the table, and hoisted his brother up.

"Miss Iona, are you going to sing? I want to hear everyone's songs!" the child exclaimed with a fanged smile. Iona laughed and pretended to think about her answer for a few moments.

"I'll sing, and I'll even teach you all to dance like a true Scotsman," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Okay! Brother's going to sing as well, right?" Stefan said. Mircea turned red.

"I don't think you want to hear me sing, Stefan," he said sheepishly.

"Of course I do," Stefan said happily. Mircea groaned.

"_Da_, I'll sing," he sighed. Stefan giggled and hugged his brother.

The rest of the crew began trickling into the cavernous third deck slowly but surely, and all four captains stood on the stage wearing various faces full of false pride and happiness. Everybody seemed happy to have an excuse to unwind and relax, and the escape from their impending mission was welcomed with glasses filled with alcohol and an unspoken agreement of peace. Someone had managed to track down a gramophone and some records, and the soft sounds of classical music echoed through the large room.

Once everyone had entered, Antonio dragged Romana out onto the middle of the floor just as a new song began to play, and twirled her around. Arthur and Amelia quickly followed the Spaniard's lead, and even Ludwig was somehow convinced to dance 'at least once' by Feliciana.

Iona had to admit, she was proud of herself for being the driving force behind the soiree. It had taken a lot of work to pull it all together in a matter of days, and the mishap in Italy had certainly thrown a wrench in things, but all in all, she thought that it had turned out quite nicely. Everyone looked nice, and it was clear that they'd all tried their best to do so.

"Captain Arthur, will you sing?" Stefan chirped a few feet away, pulling on Arthur's velvet jacket.

"Ehm, no, Stefan, I'm sorry," Arthur stammered sheepishly. Stefan looked crestfallen and Iona shot a dirty look at her brother.

"However, I will teach you some old dances from the British Isles. Would that be okay?" Arthur added, withering under Iona's stare. Stefan immediately brightened.

"Okay! Come on! I wanna dance," the little boy exclaimed. He dragged Arthur and Amelia into the center of the room.

"Your brother is absolutely precious, Mircea," Iona whispered, nudging the Romanian in the side.

"Yeah, I guess he's pretty cute," Mircea chuckled, squeezing Iona's shoulders a little. They watched amusedly as Arthur taught both Stefan and Amelia how to do some English and Irish traditional dances along with the accompanying songs. Stefan caught on fairly quickly, but patiently waited until Amelia had gotten the hang of things before stealing her away from Arthur and practicing.

Arthur walked back over to where Iona and Mircea stood, slightly breathless but looking content.

"Iona, you're going to have to teach him the Scottish ones. I don't have the energy for them," he huffed.

"I'm quite fine with that, Brother-mine," Iona said. "Plus, I have my lovely assistant, Mircea, to help me."

Iona herded Mircea out into the center of the room and waved Stefan over.

"Okay, Stefan, I'm going to teach you how to do a basic reel. The song is called the Glasgow Reel, and it tells the story of the faery knight, Tam Lin. Are you ready?" she asked. Stefan nodded vigorously.

On cue, Arthur changed the record, and the sounds of Scotland began to come from the gramophone.

They reeled and jigged for a while until Stefan gave a large yawn and decided to go over and curl up in one of the chairs lining the edge of the room while the rest of the crew danced wildly.

Soon, someone broke into song and once they had finished, someone else started. This repeated until most of the crew members had sung their songs. By the time anyone checked a clock, it was well past one in the morning. Cleaning up was a group effort, and only took a few minutes before everyone was off to bed.

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 26th, 1890—02:00**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

Mircea woke up to an empty bed, half of it still made and unused. He looked around for a moment, wondering if perhaps Iona was just tidying up the room, but she was nowhere to be found. He got up and walked out into the hallway.

"Iona?" he whispered. He continued into the galley, but still no luck.

He stood there in silence for a moment, until he picked up the faint sound of music from above him. He bounded up the stairs to the third deck, and saw Iona dancing alone in the dim light of the fireplace. She was still dressed in that blue dress, and Mircea felt his heart beat madly at the sight.

"Why aren't you in bed, _draga_ _mea_?" he asked, startling the Scotswoman.

"Wasn't tired. I also just wanted to wear my dress for a little longer before I had to put it away," Iona replied softly. Mircea detected a small tinge of bitterness in her words.

"You do look very nice in it, Iona. I wasn't lying when I told you that earlier."

Iona smiled at him for a moment.

"Come dance with me," she said quietly, holding out a hand. Mircea quickly closed the space between them and grabbed her hand.

"Do you know how to waltz?" he said, wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her even closer.

"Indeed, I do."

The music started, a sad, slow waltz with soft runs and hints of some bittersweet story, matching the faint gloominess of the near-empty ballroom.

Together, the two of them glided across the ballroom floor gracefully. Mircea felt like he was on cloud nine, as though nothing could bring him down.

Finally, though, the music ended, and the pair stood in the center of the ballroom, faces mere inches away from each other.

"You're not too bad, Mackenzie," Mircea teased, flashing a toothy grin at Iona.

"It always helps to have a partner with whom you enjoy dancing, and a song you know by heart," Iona said. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Mircea cut her off with a swift kiss to the lips. The Scotswoman didn't fight or struggle. Instead, she eagerly kissed him back, and Mircea felt his heart soar. This wasn't some act to fool the authorities, or any sort of joke; this was real.

Both were breathing heavily when they broke apart, but wore hopeful, happy smiles.

However, that quickly changed as Iona's face fell, her eyes filled with sadness.

"Mircea, we—I—can't. I'm sorry. Not now," she said, turning away from him.

"But—"

"It's not that I don't feel the same way, Mir, because I most certainly do, and I'm fairly certain that I have for a while now, but right now is such an awful time. We basically go to war in one day, and I don't think I could handle all of my responsibilities as first mate plus my personal life without sacrificing my sanity. I'm already worried about losing my best friend, Mircea. Don't make me worry about losing my heart."

Mircea said nothing, choosing instead to stand there, letting her words sink in. He didn't react when she walked away to turn off the music. He didn't react when she left the room. He finally reacted when she shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the middle of the grand ballroom.

"_Prost, prost, prost. Ai naibii de idiot, uite ce ai făcut,_" he hissed, dropping to his knees. He stayed there on the floor for a few minutes before finally picking himself up and dragging himself back to the bedroom. Iona was already curled up, asleep, and Mircea quickly joined her, hugging her close to him. Maybe he couldn't call her "his" officially, but right now, he needed to hold onto her to keep his own worries at bay.

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 26th, 1890—16:00**

**Engineer Viktor Aleksandrov**

"The trap is working, General. We're heading for Bucharest, just as planned," Viktor said into the radio microphone.

"That makes me much happy, Viktor. You have done the good work, _da_? I knew it was smart to trust you," a Russian-accented voice said through the radio. Viktor could hear the child-like smile in the voice.

"I'm surprised no one has caught on yet, but at the same time, I'm not. These people are too disorganised to save themselves. We should be arriving soon, General Braginsky. They've already set up teams and everything," Viktor smirked. General Braginsky chuckled.

"Wonderful. _Do_ _svidaniya_, Viktor."

The radio went silent, and Viktor quickly left so as to not arouse any suspicion.

**Bucharest, Romania—March 27th, 1890—16:00**

**Captain Gilbert Nikolaus Beilschmidt**

"Everyone knows their teams, correct? Each team will have one magic user for communications purposes, as well as one captain. Francis' team will be in charge of distracting anyone who might wish to get in the way; Antonio's team will take out the security of the General's office; Arthur's team will be in charge of hijacking radio communications, and my team will take on Braginsky himself. Once each team has finished their respective job, make your way to the General's living quarters to help my team. Understand?" Gilbert barked, using a yard stick to point out various bullet points on a board. The entire room nodded and gave other signs of affirmation.

"_Wunderbar_. Now go prepare. We leave in one hour."

Everyone jumped up and scampered out of the room to gather necessary items.

One hour later, they were all assembled in the main airlock of _The_ _Phoenix_, armed to the teeth and looking anxious. Nobody reacted when they docked in the private aerodrome of the Russian forces in Bucharest, and they all stoically trickled out when the airlock was opened.

"Iona, if anything happens to me, take care of Stefan, okay?" Gilbert heard Mircea say.

"Most definitely. You take care of yourself, Mircea. I don't want to lose my best friend," Iona replied before coming over to stand at Gilbert's side.

"Are you ready, Captain Beilschmidt?" she asked politely.

"_Ja_, I'm ready. Let's go," Gilbert said.

The entire base seemed eerily empty, and the few people they did pass simply looked away and hurried off.

_This is much too easy_, Gilbert thought to himself.

The headquarters of the Romanian base were large and imposing, but once again, were easy to get into. Nobody stopped them, or even threatened them.

"It's as though they know we're coming," Vash growled, looking around warily and clutching his rifle to his chest.

Suddenly, a gun fired, and a bullet whizzed past Gilbert's ear.

"Shit! We need to move," Iona yelled, running for the stairs. The others followed her.

_We're under fire, but making our way to the General's office. Mircea, we need you guys to get over here stat. Who knows what's waiting for us?_ Iona thought, hoping that her panicked tone was apparent in the message.

_On our way_, Mircea's voice responded in the back of her mind.

"Mircea says that Antonio's team is on their way. We have to keep moving," she said through gritted teeth.

They dodged bullets and other projectiles up five flights of stairs, stopping short when they came to a closed door.

"Why are you just standing there, Miss Mackenzie? Is it locked?" Gilbert barked derisively.

"Yes, it's locked, you idiot. I can't open it," Iona spat.

"Can't you just will it open with your magic, you little witch?"

"Enough. This is no time for fighting," Vash snapped. He hit the doorknob with the butt of his gun, and the door sprang open. The group poured into the spacious office, only to be greeted not by General Ivan Braginsky, but by an average-sized man with blond hair and glasses.

"Oh, what a nice surprise," the man chuckled sinisterly.

"Who are you? Where's General Braginsky?" Gilbert demanded.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, you shouldn't be so rude in someone else's domain," the man said in some sort of Eastern European accent.

"Shut up and answer the question," Mathias yelled.

"The name is Eduard von Bock, and I'm afraid General Braginsky is in St Petersburg," the man said.

"Our sources said that he would be here! Viktor swore upside down and backwards that Braginsky was in Bucharest!" Gilbert exclaimed. He pointed a revolver at von Bock's head.

"And you actually believed him? You all must be bigger idiots than we thought," von Bock sneered. Everyone spun around to look at Viktor, only to find him gone.

"What are you saying?" Abel said calmly.

"You've had a rat in your midst this entire time. Why do you think he pointed you all to Romania? He's been working for us for years, and when you stupid pirates decided to get revenge for your losses, the first thing he did was to contact the General and formulate a plan. We couldn't have a bunch of outlaws trying to attack the head of the Russian Federation, could we?" von Bock said. He gave a loud, shrill whistle, and the sound of many pairs of boots echoed down the halls.

"This, I do believe, is where I leave you to the soldiers under my command. I'm sure they've already taken down your friends. _Head_ _aega_," the man said. He walked past the group just as soldiers rushed in and surrounded them.

_Mircea! Arthur! Lukas! Report in, now! This is an ambush! Braginsky isn't in Bucharest. We've been played. Viktor was a double agent this entire time. Get out now. If we're not back at the ship in thirty minutes, leave without us_, Iona thought. Immediately, three distinct waves of fear, sadness, and anger rushed into her mind. _Mircea, are you okay?_

_Be careful, all of you. Try to make it back_, came Lukas' voice.

_Get out of there now, Iona. Abort the mission_, Arthur practically yelled.

_I'm fine. I'm on my way, draga mea, _Mircea said. Iona tried to tell him not to, but the message was ignored.

Iona turned to the trio of soldiers nearest to her, her eyes lighting up. The air around her was charged with magic, just waiting for something to set it off.

Gilbert was the first to fire a shot, hitting one of the soldiers in the forehead. After that, all hell broke loose.

It was a vicious fight, and it was also a long one. Gilbert dodged swords and bullets and even a few stray spells at every step, alternating between shooting and stabbing. Abel and Mathias stood back to back, swinging around two large battle axes and taking down three rows of attackers at once. Jack and Vash used high-powered automatic guns to unleash a spray of bullets.

Iona shot spell after spell, managing to hold off the Russian soldiers for a little while, but tiring quickly.

"All of you, fall back!" she snapped.

"Not unless you're planning to come with us, cousin," Jack yelled.

"Someone has to cover you guys."

"Then we all cover each other."

Iona looked to Gilbert for support.

"Majority rules. We stay together," he growled.

At that moment, Jack and Vash were both overwhelmed by the reinforcements, and Mathias and Abel soon followed.

"We can't last much longer, Gil. You need to get them out of here," Iona hissed, knocking out a soldier who rushed her.

As if to prove her point, more soldiers charged through the door, coming together with the ones who had taken down the others to form two circles around Gilbert and Iona. The inner circle tightened around them.

"Iona, if we don't make it out of this alive, I just want to tell you that—"

"Get away from my friends, _nemernicilor_!" a familiar voice yelled. A bright bolt of light scattered half of the outer circle of soldiers, and the remaining soldiers turned.

Mircea stood in the doorway, orbs of bright blue light humming in his hands.

"Captain! Get the others out of here and wait for us at the entrance to the Aerodrome. Iona and I can hold these goons off," the Romanian barked. Gilbert nodded, realising that he needed to trust the two sorcerers. He leapt over the pile of unconscious soldiers and ran to help the other four crew members. The five of them hurried out, leaving Iona and Mircea to deal with the rest of the soldiers.

"You should've gone back to the ship, Mir," Iona said, taking a shot at a Russian, but missing. She was out of breath and fading, and it was apparent, not only to Mircea, but also to the soldiers surrounding them. A group of thugs shifted their attention from Mircea to Iona.

"No!" Mircea shrieked, just as a soldier plunged his sword through Iona's stomach. The young woman fell instantly, a look of shock and fear still on her vacant face. Mircea sprinted over to her side.

"NononononononononoNO. Come on, Iona. Please be okay," he whispered desperately. Iona didn't move, and Mircea could only sense the faintest of heartbeats. He turned on the room full of soldiers, his eyes glowing a dangerous, demonic crimson, and his mouth spreading wide in a devilish, fanged grin. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and a brilliant white light filled every corner, emanating, it seemed, from Mircea. A ring of fire surrounded the soldiers as Mircea picked Iona up, doing so with such ease and elegance that the soldiers swore the girl must've weighed nothing.

"Do not follow," Mircea commanded, his voice layered with another, deeper, much darker voice. He carried Iona through the fire, coming out unharmed, and laid her down on a couch in the next room.

"_Vă rugăm să reveniți la mine, cea mai dragă mea iubita_. Please, please don't die," he whimpered, pushing a strand of hair from the Scotswoman's forehead. "Please, Iona. I can't do this without you."

The tears ran fast, falling down his face and landing on Iona's chest. Mircea wailed, cursing God and the heavens and every supernatural being the old ladies in Bucharest had ever told him stories of.

In his anguish, Mircea failed to notice the tendrils of red magical energy flowing from his hands into Iona, nor did he notice her wound healing up. He especially didn't notice her breathing becoming stronger again, and most definitely missed her eyes fluttering open.

"Mircea?" she wheezed.

Mircea turned around and stared in disbelief.

"Iona?"

"Why are you crying?"

Mircea didn't answer, choosing instead to scoop the redhead up into his arms and swing her around, holding her tightly.

"Oh! You're okay! Thank God, you're okay!" he exclaimed as he set her down, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"What happened?" Iona said, her head still spinning. Mircea opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of footsteps approaching interrupted him. "You can explain later. We need to go find Captain Beilschmidt."

They started back towards the Aerodrome, meeting back up with Gilbert and the others halfway to the ship.

"There's somebody coming," Iona snapped before anyone could ask about the large hole in her blouse.

"We need to get out of here now," Gilbert said. No one argued. They ran back down the way they came, until finally, the ship came into view.

"_Lõpeta!"_ von Bock yelled, but the pirates ignored him, too focused on the last few yards between them and their ship.

"We're almost there! We're safe," Mathias yelled when they came within five steps of the ship. The rest of the crew stood on the top deck, cheering them on.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the aerodrome, and Gilbert felt something pierce his back and chest.

Another gunshot rang out from near the ship, and Gilbert heard the person behind him fall, just as his own legs gave out.

**First Mate Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"Gilbert! _Na_!" Iona screamed as she watched Gilbert fall to the ground. Blood poured from his chest and back, right where his heart was. She did an about-face and dashed to Gilbert's side, catching his head before it hit the ground. He looked up at her with sad red eyes.

"_Bade wi' me, Gilbert. Ye hae tae keep yer een open, okay? Focus oan mah voice,_" Iona said firmly. She brushed a few locks of soft white hair from his forehead and tore off pieces of her skirt to stem the blood. Gilbert coughed, spraying Iona with small droplets of blood.

"Even after all I've done, you're still the one to come to my side, Iona. Why?" Gilbert wheezed, wincing with every word.

"_Fur ye'r mah friend 'n' mah captain, Gilbert. Th' bygane is in th' bygane_," Iona whispered, smiling kindly, though she winced at the pain in her stomach.

"I don't think I'm going to make it, Iona. I don't think I want to, either," Gilbert said bitterly. Iona's eyes widened.

"_Dinnae say that. Ye hae tae keep gaun!_"

"_Nein_. Not this time, Captain Mackenzie. You'll take care of Ludwig for me, right? Make sure he finally gets the guts to admit his feelings to Feliciana. Hell, see to it that he marries her, okay? Can I trust you to—"

"Gilbert, no. You do that yourself. You have to live."

I can't. I'm sorry for everything, I'm so sorry. I still love you, you know, but you don't belong to me, and I'm okay with that. Please, take care of yourself. Do something awesome, just like I know you can. Settle down with Mircea eventually. Live the life you should have lived. And please, find it in you to forgive me for everything I've done. Goodbye, Iona Mackenzie. I pass on my captainship to you," he wheezed as he removed his captain's ring and tucked it into a pocket in Iona's skirt, a tear rolling down his cheek.

"No, Gilbert. Please no," the Scotswoman whispered, her own tears falling fast and furious.

"I...I have to go."

With that, Gilbert breathed out one last time, and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Goodbye, Gilbert. You're in a better place now," Iona whimpered, before a sob shook her entire frame. She took Gilbert's pocket watch, his locket, and a photograph of the two of them from his pocket. Mathias and Abel ran back over, carefully gathering up the body and taking it inside the ship. Iona sat on the ground for many moments before standing up slowly and walking into the waiting arms of her brother.

**_The_ _Phoenix_—March 27th, 1890—21:00**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona didn't remember much of the past three hours. They had all passed by in a blur of tears and wailing and pain and explanations and general mourning. It seemed like every time she thought she had cried all of her tears out, more sprang to her eyes. Never once in those three hours did she let go of the locket, which she had discovered contained a picture of Ludwig as well as a picture of herself.

She had nearly died...she should've died, and neither she nor Mircea had any idea of how she was alive. Even worse, though, Gilbert _was_ dead, and he wasn't coming back.

She stayed curled up on her bed, refusing to answer the door when people came to check on her. Sure, Gilbert had been an awful jerk, but he had still been her friend, and now he was gone.

"Iona? Are you still in there?" Mircea said through the door.

"Go away, Mir. I don't want to talk," Iona growled, shooting a glare at the door.

Mircea opened it anyways. He stood in the doorway, looking at the redhead curled up on the bed, dressed only in her dressing gown and a pair of blue silk slippers.

"You look awful right now, Iona," he said bluntly. Iona grunted but otherwise didn't react. Mircea walked over to the bed and sat down beside the Scotswoman, gathering her into his arms. Iona let out a silent sob, her entire body shaking, and Mircea hugged her closer, one hand stroking her knotted hair.

"I could've saved him, Mircea. I heard von Bock behind us, and I heard him cock the damn gun. I could've done something—I should've done something. Now Gilbert's gone," Iona whimpered.

"It's not your fault, Iona. We all should have known better than to trust Viktor. There were so many warning signs, and we all completely missed them. Don't blame yourself. You really couldn't have done anything. You were too weak. You were so close to death only ten minutes before it happened. You can't blame yourself. It's Viktor's fault," Mircea soothed. Iona buried her face in his chest.

"Viktor was your friend, Mircea. How can you suddenly be so cold?"

"Because he doesn't deserve kindness anymore. He betrayed us."

Iona grabbed Mircea's free hand, gripping it tightly as tears continued to roll down her face. They sat in silence like that for many moments, both eventually dozing off, never letting go of each other.

Mircea woke first, startled into consciousness by a faint knock at the open door. He nudged Iona, but not before placing a small kiss on her forehead.

"Brother? Is Miss Iona okay?" a small voice asked from the hallway. Mircea looked up and saw Stefan standing there, watching them with big brown eyes.

"C'mere, Stefan. Maybe you can help me cheer Miss Iona up," Mircea said softly. Stefan padded over to them and hopped up on the bed. He sat in Iona's lap.

"Don't cry, Miss Iona. You're a captain now. That's gotta be good for something, right?" Stefan said innocently. Iona sniffled, but didn't respond.

Stefan stared at her for a moment, puzzling over how to cheer the Scotswoman up.

"Miss Iona, will you sing for me? I never got to hear you sing at the party," he finally chirped. Iona looked at him with a watery smile.

"Of course, Stefan. I think a little music would do all of us some good," she said said, rousing herself and walking over to the closet as the brothers looked on. They watched as she pulled a simple black skirt and a white blouse from the closet, and even had enough sense to avert their eyes as she dressed.

Once she was done dressing, she walked over to the vanity, taking something out of one of the drawers. She began drawing around her eyes, and the two males realised that she was applying makeup.

"I guess I'm captain now, so I might as well look like it," she sighed in way of explanation. She looked like an entirely different person when she turned back to face them; much older and more sophisticated than the rough and rowdy first mate. Now, she had an air of regality and authority about her, even before she brushed her wild mane of hair and teased it into a high bun. The look was finished off with dark red lip colouring.

She made for the galley, running through a long list of songs she could sing. The mental and emotional transformation taking place within the new captain was almost visible as the brothers followed closely behind her. She stood a bit straighter, held her head a little higher, and carried with her the air of a woman not to be crossed. Mircea couldn't help but smile proudly.

Everyone jumped in surprise when she practically burst into the galley.

"_A'richt, ye band o' misfits, na mair moping. It wilnae dae us ony guid,_" she barked.

"Iona, what are you—" Arthur began, only to stop when he saw Gilbert's ring on her finger. The realisation dawned on him, and he bowed, much to the confusion of the others. "My lady, Captain Mackenzie."

"No need to show that much ceremony, boys. Not like you show that much respect to each other," Iona snorted.

"Good, because I wasn't about to follow the example of this culinarily-inept imbecile," Francis said. Arthur shot him a dirty look, but otherwise kept his attention on Iona.

"Arthur, do you remember what we did the day after we received news of Ali's death?" Iona said, turning to her younger brother.

"Yes, we spent the entire day planning the funeral," Arthur said. Iona shook her head.

"What did we do while we planned the funeral?"

"We...we sang," Arthur said doubtfully.

"Exactly. Stefan brought it to my attention that he never got to hear me sing, and I do believe that I owe him a song, but you know, why not include everyone?"

Some people nodded, while others just stared in bewilderment.

"Well, Miss Priss, if you're going to sing, then get it over with," Romana huffed. The room fell silent and Iona cleared her throat.

_"Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing/Onward! the sailors cry,/Carry the lad that's born to be King/Over the sea to Skye./Loud the winds howl,/Loud the waves roar,/Thunderclouds rend the air;/Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,/Follow they will not dare."_

It was a fairly slow song, sad, but urgent, and Feliciana couldn't help but get up and pull Ludwig to the middle of the kitchen, leading him into a sort of sway, the way teenagers at their first ball might dance: awkwardly but glad to at least be moving.

"_Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing/Onward! the sailors cry,/Carry the lad that's born to be King/Over the sea to Skye./Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,/Ocean's a royal bed./Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep/Watch o'er your weary head."_

Stefan was next to start dancing, doing what looked like his best attempt at a one-man waltz, occasionally getting help from Amelia or Romana.

"_Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,/Onward! the sailors cry,/Carry the lad that's born to be King,/Over the sea to Skye./__Many's the lad fought on that day,/__Well the Claymore could wield,/__When the night came, silently lay/__Dead on Culloden's field."_

Arthur and Amelia sat in the corner, and while they looked weary and worn, they still smiled and laughed, and soon enough, Amelia got up and tried to do a strange ballroom dance with Jack, despite being nearly unable to due to exhaustion.

"_Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,/Onward! the sailors cry,/Carry the lad that's born to be King/Over the sea to Skye./__Burned are their homes, exile and death/__Scatter the loyal men;/__Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath/__Charlie will come again."_

By the time the song ended, the atmosphere in the room was much lighter, though the sadness still hung around the edges. The lightheartedness wouldn't last forever, but even just a few moments of relief were enough.

"We can't mope forever. We have to keep moving on and finish this damn mission. As captain, I cannot allow this ship and its crew to come to a virtual halt just because we lost a man. Ludwig," Iona began, nodding towards the stoic blond, "I know what it's like to lose a brother. It feels like you've lost a piece of yourself, and it hurts like bloody fucking hell. I know that pain all too well, but you have to keep going. We all do. We have an entire Federation to bring down, and by God, we're going to do it. We have five days until we reach St Petersburg, meaning you all have five days to pick yourselves back up and get your acts together. We have to make sure that Gilbert did not die in vain. Gilbert was not scared to die. In fact, he had accepted it, but we should still make his loss worth it. What do you all say?"

"I agree with Captain Mackenzie. We must complete this, and we must do it soon. Take tonight to grieve, rage, and rest. Tomorrow we prepare for war," Arthur said, standing up and walking over to his sister.

"_Sí_, I will stand with Iona and Arthur," Antonio chimed in.

"As will I. All four captains stand united, meaning the rest of you have no choice. Now, everyone, off to bed," Francis said.

"You were wonderful, _draga_ _mea_," Mircea whispered, putting an arm around Iona's waist.

"Please remove your arm, Mircea. I'm captain now, remember? There is a hierarchy," Iona hissed, but quickly rested her head on his shoulder to show that she wasn't angry.

**St Petersburg, Russia—March 27th, 1890—23:00**

**Viktor** **Aleksandrov**

"Your friends have not been deterred, it seems. Sources in Bucharest say that although that much annoying Prussian captain is killed, they still have plan to come to St Petersburg. You told me they would be easy kill, no? What do you have for saying to me, Viktor?" General Braginsky said, much too cheerfully for Viktor's comfort.

"I did not expect them to rally this much, General. I also did not expect for so many of them to survive. I'm sorry, sir," Viktor said nervously.

"I do not like being lied to, Viktor, and I do consider this lying. As punishment, you will lead charge against them, _da_? I put you at front of counterattack and you will most likely die. Natalya and Kat will make very sure of this, as will little Latvian man. You will not fail me this time," Braginsky said, giving Viktor a frighteningly child-like smile.

"Yes sir. I understand."

* * *

For anyone who's curious, the song that Iona sings is the original version of "The Skye Boat Song," which I highly suggest looking up.


	21. Chapter 21: Dance of the Druids

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—March 28th, 1890—07:00**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

Francis was having a difficult time believing that Gilbert was gone. Already, he missed the albino's obnoxious laughter and larger-than-life ego, and it hadn't even been twenty-four hours.

"What should we do about a funeral?" Arthur said reluctantly, looking at the three other captains.

"Wait until after we finish this. We can't afford any sort of delay, not even for something so important," Francis sniffed.

"That would be highly unsanitary, Francis. We can't just leave a body lying around in the infirmary when we're about to go into battle. Don't be a fool," Iona chided.

"Well, what do you suggest we do, Captain Mackenzie?" Francis spat, much more venomously than he meant to.

"I was thinking a Viking funeral," Iona spat back, narrowing her eyes at the Frenchman.

"_Excusez-moi_?" Francis choked.

"_Discúlpeme_?" Antonio squawked.

"I think we should give Gilbert a Viking funeral. Did I mumble or something? He died a hero, and by God, we're going to give him a hero's funeral before we embark on anything big. Honour the dead. It'll give everyone closure," Iona practically snarled.

"When should we do it, Iona?" Arthur said with an air of finality.

"Tonight. We need to do it tonight."

The three male captains talked amongst themselves for a moment.

"We'll land at twenty-one hundred hours. I'll have Berwald alert the rest of the crew," Francis sighed.

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—March 28th, 1890—11:00**

**Ludwig Beilschmidt**

"Ve~ Ludwig, do you want to help me make pasta? Pasta always makes everything better," Feliciana chirped happily, although her face was full of concern.

"_Nein, danke_. I'm perfectly fine," Ludwig said monotonously.

"You've been sitting there, staring at a mug of tea for the past two hours, potato bastard. Not exactly what I call 'fine,'" Romana snorted.

"_Sorella_, be nice," Feliciana scolded, waving a wooden spoon at her sister.

"I'm just telling the truth. He hasn't eaten a thing since we got back on the ship, he didn't sleep last night, and I'm serious when I say that he's been staring at that mug of tea since he entered this kitchen. You may enjoy coddling people, Feli, but that's obviously not what he needs," Romana snapped. "Why are you such a damn fucking idiot sometimes?"

"Will you two just be quiet?" Ludwig sighed.

"Ve~ Of course! _Me_ _despiace_," Feliciana said.

Ludwig tuned the world out after that. Everything was upside-down. His older brother, someone whom he'd always viewed as immortal and invincible, was dead, gone in a single instant. Now they were all preparing to set Gilbert alight for good, and Ludwig wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.

Many more hours passed, and Ludwig continued to sit in the galley, staring blankly into the very cold cup of tea, unable to convince his body to move more than a few centimeters. At some point, morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon gave way to evening. Someone had cleared the mug of tea, replacing it with a glass of water, but that too was left untouched.

Finally, Feliciana coaxed him to his quarters so that she could help him clean himself up before they landed. Ludwig would never admit it, but he was thankful for her constant presence at his side. She stayed with him when he finally broke down and cried for the first time since his brother had been killed, and helped him wipe away the tears. She was there when he visited the infirmary to pay his last private respects to his elder sibling, and held his hand as he said goodbye to the person who had basically raised him. She never let go of his hand after that point, and for that, he was grateful.

The atmosphere was somber as they all descended the gangway ahead of the body, borne on the shoulders of Berwald, Abel, Sadik, and Daniel.

One of the small safety crafts had been outfitted with dry wood and various dried flowers and spices, and someone had dressed Gilbert's body in his best uniform, including his hat and sword.

Arthur stood at the head of the group in a spot right next to the boat on the edge of a lake. Everyone went silent as he cleared his throat.

"I won't make this very long for everyone's sake, but I do believe that Gilbert deserves a memorial service. I knew Gilbert for many years because he was friends with my eldest brother, as well as my sister. I'll be honest, though, I never particularly liked him until the very end. Now, I'm sorry I didn't give him a chance earlier," he began. He turned to the boat. "Gilbert, rest in peace, my friend."

Arthur stepped away, and Antonio took his place.

"Gilbert was one of my closest friends. He had an ego the size of the entire universe, and at times, he was _muy_ _muy_ annoying, but he had the inner personality of a trained soldier, and he knew when to take things seriously. I will miss him very much," the Spaniard said. He sounded like he was trying his absolute hardest to remain calm, and the tears brimming in his large green eyes glittered in the torch light. "_Adios, mi hermano. Que Dios te acompañe._"

Romana grabbed Antonio's hand and held it at her heart while he sobbed into her shoulder. Daniel made his way to the speaker's spot, glancing sadly at the lifeless body next to him.

"I met Captain Beilschmidt when he tried to kidnap my girlfriend, and somehow, I ended up as part of his crew. I resented him at first because of this, but after a year as part of the crew, I found myself admiring his confidence and the way he handled us. Gilbert was perhaps my greatest friend, and by far the best leader I've ever had. I will most definitely miss him. _Nyugodj békében, drága barátom._"

Ludwig felt his walls breaking, and he gripped Feliciana's hand even tighter.

"Ludwig, you should go say a few words. He was your brother," the small Italian woman whispered. Ludwig nodded solemnly and walked over to Daniel, who moved aside for him.

"I'm not very good at this sort of thing, so this won't take very long. Gilbert was an idiot, and an obnoxiously egotistical one at that, but he had a strong sense of justice and loyalty, and an amazing capacity for love if you went deep enough. I will always have a hole in my heart now where he used to be. Goodbye, _Bruder_."

At that, Ludwig broke down into tears, joining Francis at the back of the group. The Frenchman opted not to speak about his friend, unable to form more than a few coherent words at a time.

Iona was the next to take the stand, and she did so quietly and somberly.

"'Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, /Say, could that lad be I?/Merry of soul he sailed on a day/Over the sea to Skye./Billow and breeze, islands and seas,/Mountains of rain and sun,/All that was good, all that was fair,/All that was me is gone.' I, like my fellow speakers, have no grand eulogy for Gilbert, only a few lines of a poem, but that is more than enough. Gilbert wasn't perfect, but then again, none of us are. Remember him, mourn him, miss him, but don't let his death hold you back from what lies ahead. _Mòran_ _taing_. _Chi mi a-rithist thu._"

Much to everyone's surprise, Vash was the last to come forward, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped in the same manner as many of the others.

"Not many people know this, but Gilbert and I knew each other as children. I would hesitate to say that we were friends, but I certainly have many good memories of him chasing me around with toy guns and bows made from sticks. His life wasn't easy, not by any measure, but now we can all rest easily knowing that he's in a much better place. _Auf wiedersehen_."

Silence fell upon the entire area, enveloping the group like the inky darkness in which they stood. Everyone began to brace themselves for what was to come next: the lighting of the pyre.

"Ludwig, would you like to do the honours?" Arthur said softly as they pushed the boat out into the middle of the lake and Vash presented a beautiful black longbow with five sleek, silver arrows.

Ludwig shook his head, silent tears running down his face.

"I will," Mircea offered, a small ball of fire appearing in his hand. Ludwig nodded slightly, showing his agreement. The Romanian stepped towards Vash and lit the tip of the first arrow. Antonio launched the flaming weapon into the air, watching as it hit its mark on the small boat. Arthur shot next, and the flames began to eat the boat once his hit. Iona, then Francis, shot the third and fourth arrows, and finally, with Feliciana's steadying hand on his back, Ludwig shot the last.

"_I once had a comrade,/You will find no better./The drum sounded for battle,/He walked at my side,/In the same pace and step./A bullet came flying towards us,/Is it meant for me or you?/It swept him away,/He now lays at my feet,/As if he was a part of me./His hand reaches out to me,/Meanwhile I am reloading./"I cannot shake your hand farewell,/You must remain in eternal life heaven,/My fine precious comrade._" Daniel sang as they watched it slowly drift away, carrying their friend and captain to another land. After a very long hour of standing in the cold, they saw the fire at last blink out as the world went silent and dark again.

The group made its way back onto the ship. Ludwig immediately dashed to his quarters, shutting and locking the door behind him, despite Feliciana's cries for him to let her in. He couldn't bear for anyone to see him like this. His brother had trained him better, and now here he was, an emotional mess.

_"Get it together, Lutz. Men don't cry, only girls do, and I will not have my little Bruder be some girl. Stop being so un-awesome," Gilbert scolded._

Suddenly, Ludwig was back at home in Berlin. He knew this memory. He was twelve and his beloved dog, Berlitz, had just died.

_"Gilbert, Berlitz is gone!" Ludwig cried._

_"He was just a dog, Lutz. Get over it, dammit," Gilbert snapped._

_"He was my best friend."_

_"Do you want people to make fun of you for being a girl?"_

_"N-no."_

_"Then stop crying. What would you do if I died instead of the dog?"_

_"I-I-I'd-I'd—"_

_"If you say that you'd cry, I'm going to make you run around the entire town in a dress and makeup like the little girl you're acting like. So, Ludwig, what would you do if I died?"_

_"I'd continue on and move ahead with my life."_

_"Good. What will you do now?"_

_"Move on with my life."_

_"Exactly."_

"I'm sorry, Gilbert," Ludwig whispered, drying the last of his tears.

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—March 28th, 1890—23:00**

**Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo**

"_Cuando la pena nos alcanza/por el hermano perdido,/cuando el adiós dolorido/busca en la/Fe su esperanza./En Tu palabra confiamos/con la certeza que Tú/ya le has devuelto a la vida,/ya le has llevado a la luz./Ya le has devuelto a la vida,/ya le has llevado a la luz,_" Antonio sang under his breath.

"What is that song, Toni?" Romana said, looking at the Spaniard earnestly.

"It's the song that Spanish troops sing at military funerals, just like the song Daniel sang is what Germans sing for their downed troops," Antonio replied sadly.

"What is it called?"

"_La muerte no es el final_, or 'Death is not the end.'"

"It's beautiful."

"_Gracias, Romana. Gracias por todo. Me siento tan perdido, y que me traiga de vuelta_," Antonio said, his voice quavering. Romana walked over and sat beside Antonio on his bed, placing her hand over his.

"Italian and Spanish might be fairly close, idiot, but not close enough that I understood you. Speak English, dammit, so we're both on the same page," she grumped.

"Thank you, Romana. Thank you for everything. I feel so lost, and you help me find my way," the Spaniard repeated, this time in English as Romana had asked.

"You don't have to thank me, Antonio. I haven't done very much except for being a burden and getting in the way. I'm not a ball of sunshine like my sister, so it's not like there's any real benefit from my presence," she said. Antonio whipped his head around to look at her.

"_¡Tonterías! No digas esas cosas! Preferiría te tendría conmigo que Feli!_ You're not a burden, Romana. Why would you ever think that way?" Antonio cried.

"Stop speaking Spanish, dammit!"

"Sorry, sorry. I don't like it when you say stuff like that, Roma. I would choose you over your sister any day."

Suddenly, Romana felt a pang of guilt for adding to the things Antonio had to worry about because she knew that now he would be concerned with making her feel important and valued on top of everything else he had to deal with.

"Forget it, Toni. It's nothing. You've got more important things to think about," Romana mumbled, looking away from the captain.

"Romana, from the moment Abel dropped you at my feet, I haven't been capable of taking my eyes or my thoughts off of you. To me, you are important. You're more important than anything else. Don't be so ridiculous."

Romana stared at him for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around what he had just confessed.

"Toni...are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Antonio brightened and turned red, a smile stretching across his face.

"_Sí! Sí, Romana, lo soy. Te amo más de lo que he amado nunca a nadie en toda mi vida!_" he exclaimed.

"I told you, you bastard, English."

"Yes, Roma, I'm saying what you think I'm saying! I love you more than I've ever loved anything or anyone in my entire life!"

Romana blushed violently.

"You're insane. There's no fucking way in fucking hell," she grumbled, speaking more to herself than to Antonio.

"Well, I'd say that everyone's a little _loco_, but I'm absolutely sure that I care about you, Romana!" Antonio said as Romana furrowed her brows and shook her head.

"But-but I'm so mean to you, Toni. I'm not ladylike, I'm not gorgeous like my sister, and I swear too much, and I'm just too mean."

"I don't care. I mean it, Roma, I really and truly love you."

Romana said nothing after this, choosing to turn away from Antonio and stare fixedly at the wall instead. They sat in silence for many minutes, neither one wanting to interrupt the other's thoughts.

"You should've told me earlier, Tomato Bastard," Romana finally muttered, crossing her arms over her chest with a heavy sigh.

"_Ti_ _amo_."

Antonio tackled her, nearly knocking the Italian girl over.

"Oh Romana! It makes me so happy to hear you say that!" he cried, ignoring Romana's flailing and grumbles to 'Get off.'

"As long as it means you'll stop moping. I don't like you all sad and moody, Toni."

"_Sí_! I have no reason to be sad when you've brought me so much joy, Roma! Well, I mean, I am still very upset about Gilbert, but you make it a little better."

"Whatever, Tomato Bastard. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"_Buenas noches, mi querida!_"

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—March 29th, 1890—05:00**

**Ludwig Beilschmidt**

Sleep evaded Ludwig, and by the time morning came, he felt even more hollow and worn down than he had after his first week of boot camp five years ago. He kept himself busy by inspecting every inch of the ship, ensuring that they were ready for whatever lay ahead in St Petersburg. He cooked breakfast, set the table, and poured various mugs of coffee and tea for the trickle of crew members entering the kitchen, shooing Feliciana away when she tried to help him and nearly broke all of their plates. He even cleaned all of the offices onboard until he could see his reflection in the wood of each desk. Despite all of this productivity, though, the spectre of his brother's death still followed him.

"Ludwig-san, are you sure you're okay? You don't look very good," Kiku said, glancing at the German over the top of his mug.

"_Ja_, I'm fine. No need to worry," Ludwig sighed, pushing a few stray hairs off of his forehead.

"Kiku's right, Luddy. You're very pale," Antonio added. Ludwig grunted, but said nothing more. He finished wiping off the counter and quietly exited the room. He hurried to the top deck and burst into the cold morning air, reveling in how the cold rain stung his face.

He knew that he needed to continue with the preparations for St Petersburg, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to spend any more time down below. The disciplined soldier in him was cringing and clawing at the walls of his conscience, screaming at him to get back to work, but something else in him was gently whispering that even he needed to have some time to himself to recover and to grieve, and it sounded suspiciously like Feliciana's voice.

He stood facing the dark grey sky for a long time, unable to make himself move even an inch.

The door behind him opened, but Ludwig didn't turn around. He didn't care who joined him in the rain.

A small pair of arms wrapped themselves around Ludwig's waist and a head rested against his back.

"It's cold and wet out here, Ludwig. Why don't you come inside?" Feliciana said quietly, hugging him a little tighter.

Ludwig placed his large, calloused hands over Feliciana's own delicate hands, gaining some small comfort from the contact.

"I—I don't know," Ludwig sighed. Feliciana straightened up and walked around so that she faced him.

"You're going to catch your death, Ludwig. You need to come in and dry off."

"I don't want to, Feliciana."

"Why?"

Ludwig found himself stumped by the question. Why was he so reluctant to return to the warmth of the ship and the company of the crew? Logic dictated that in times of trouble, it made more sense to seek support and comfort from one's friends than to deal with it all alone.

"I'm really not sure."

"Then come inside with me."

"No, Feli."

The Italian's eyes shone sadly, and she looked worried.

"Maybe you should talk to someone else who was close to him. I'm sure that Captain Antonio would be willing to listen. I know that Gilbert and Daniel were close. Go talk to him. Maybe he has something that'll give you comfort, Luddy, but please, please don't keep holding this in. I'm worried about you," she said, stepping forward and embracing him again.

"All of them have other things to worry about, Feliciana. It would be wrong of me to interrupt them."

"But surely even waiting for one of them to have some free time would be better than standing out in the rain. I'll make you some coffee or tea or even pour you a beer if that's what you want, but please come inside, Ludwig. You're beginning to scare me," Feliciana whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. A small sniffle told the German that Feliciana had begun to cry a little. Her tears finally broke Ludwig, and he knew she was right. He needed to talk to someone before his grief drove him mad.

"If it will make you feel better, then I will go and talk to Daniel. Thank you, Feliciana," Ludwig sighed, returning the hug before pulling away and making his way inside.

"Does anyone know where Daniel is?" he asked when he entered the galley. The clock on the wall read a quarter till seven in the morning. Daniel usually woke up right about now, but who could really be sure with everything that had happened.

"I think he's in his room, last I checked," Jack called out, though the toast he'd stuffed in his mouth muffled the sound.

"_Danke_, and, erm, chew and swallow before speaking next time, please," Ludwig said.

Ludwig walked slowly to the living quarters, shoulders hunched and feet dragging, but finally, he arrived in front of the door belonging to the Hungarian.

He straightened himself up and knocked on the door. He heard the faint rustle of sheets and blankets, but otherwise received no answer. He knocked on the door again, this time a little louder.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," a distinctly male voice said from inside.

A few seconds later, Mircea answered the door, fully bathed and dressed.

"Ludwig! _Bună_ _ziua_!" the Romanian exclaimed, flashing Ludwig a wide, fanged smile.

"Mircea, what are you doing in Daniel's room?" Ludwig gasped.

"Daniel's room? Why would I be in Daniel's room? This is my room!" Mircea laughed.

"_Sheisse_."

"That Hungarian loser is two doors to the left, but I think he's in one of the smaller lounges on the fourth floor. You know, he's such a messed up creep that he's finding solace in being surrounded by all of the weapons and artillery."

"Right. Thank you."

Ludwig climbed the two sets of stairs to the fourth floor.

"Fourth floor lounge...fourth floor lounge...where is i—ah. There," he muttered, nearly running into the dark oak door.

He knocked three times.

"Who is it?" Daniel called from inside.

"It's Ludwig. Can you open up? I have something I need to discuss with you," Ludwig responded.

The door swung open and a very bedraggled-looking Hungarian looked at Ludwig questioningly.

"What can I help you with, Ludwig? Come in, please."

Daniel gestured to a set of plush leather armchairs in a corner of the lounge.

"Make yourself comfortable."

Ludwig sat down while Daniel did the same, still looking at the German with a quizzical face.

"I need to talk...I want to talk with you about Gilbert. You were close with him, right?"

"Well, I certainly regarded him as a good friend, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I—I'm having trouble coming to terms with his death, and Feliciana suggested I talk to someone about it, and I figured that you'd be able to help since you were close with him," Ludwig said defeatedly. His pride was out the window and he really didn't have much to lose from this conversation, so it made sense for him to simply be honest.

"In that case, what do you want to know? I have many stories about Gilbert, and many things he told me that he didn't tell anyone else," Daniel said.

"Did he ever talk about me? Did he have any plans for life after the attack on St Petersburg? What were they? Why didn't he ever write or contact me?"

"One question at a time, Ludwig. I know you're hurting and confused right now, but I can only answer one thing at any given moment. He talked about you all the time when he was on the bridge. He loved to tell us about how he basically raised you by himself and all of the trouble the two of you got up to. He was very proud of you, Ludwig, though he wasn't impressed by you not admitting your feelings to Feliciana, so you might just want to go ahead and do something about that, but that's just my opinion. Anyways, I'm not going to lie to you about his plans for after all of this. Gilbert was planning to sell everyone out. Once all of this was over, he was going to take command of this ship, turn everyone but himself, me, and you in for piracy, and reap the benefits of not only having defeated the Russians, but also bringing so many international criminals to justice," Daniel said calmly, never taking his gaze off of Ludwig.

"That imbecile. I thought he had more honour than that," Ludwig huffed, his eyes flashing momentarily.

"He was human and vainglorious. I'm not saying that the idea was right, nor was it even a good one, though I would have gladly joined him in a heartbeat. Regardless, there's no use being angry about it now," Daniel soothed. Ludwig nodded, and the two men fell into silence.

"You know, I remember he once tried to write you a letter, but decided it would be a good idea to write it up on the top deck of the _Adler_ on a particularly windy day. He was just about to sign his name at the bottom when a gust of wind blew the quill right out of his hand, surprising him so badly that he then knocked over the full inkwell, spilling ink all over himself, the letter, and, much to Mircea's horror, the freshly cleaned deck. Gilbert then proceeded to get up, leave inky footprints all around the mast head, and then tear up the letter and throw the scraps to the wind. That was the first and last time he ever tried writing to you," Daniel continued, his story coming out of nowhere.

"What was the letter about?"

"His plan. He'd always known that eventually, all three, possibly all four, captains would have to come together, and his plan was forming a few weeks before the initial attack on Kirkland's ship. He wanted to tell you, but then decided against it, knowing that you'd talk him down."

Ludwig pondered Daniel's story for a few moments and smiled sadly.

"Tell me more about what it was like under his captainship," he said.

"Gladly."

The two talked for hours, sharing stories of the Prussian, not even noticing when someone brought tea and cakes in for them.

"_Daniel, can you come look over some of these radio charts please?" _Antonio's voice suddenly crackled over the intercom.

"I'll be down in a few minutes," Daniel sighed, rolling his eyes.

"_You have five minutes," _Vash said_. _Ludwig and Daniel could hear Antonio complaining in the background about Vash pushing him away from the intercom.

"Well, looks like we might have to cut this short, Lud. Just remember that your brother really and truly loved you, and was so, so very proud of the man you've become. Don't mourn his loss. Celebrate the time you had with him. Oh, and just go at least kiss Feliciana, please," Daniel said, standing up. He embraced the German man like a brother, and Ludwig found comfort in it, feeling as though his brother was still there for one fleeting moment. The two exited the lounge, and Ludwig shut the door behind him, making his way back to his room, where he found Feliciana sitting on his bed, her nose buried in a book, and her back to the door.

As silently as a cat, Ludwig crept over to her and picked the young Italian woman up, planting a kiss on her lips and earning a small squeak of surprise before Feliciana returned the kiss.

She beamed radiantly at him, her arms around his midsection.

"Are you all better, Luddy?" she asked.

"More or less, Feli," Ludwig responded.

"Oh, that's so good! I'm happy, Ludwig! We should celebrate with some spaghetti!"

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—March 29th, 1890—09:10**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"Arthur, do you really have to go do captain-y stuff? Why don't you just stay in bed with me?" Amelia whined, looking up at Arthur with big blue puppy-dog eyes. Arthur felt his heart melt a little, especially considering what they'd talked about the night previous.

He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and sighed, looking away from his girlfriend.

"I'm afraid I can't. We have two days until we reach St Petersburg, and a lot of planning to do. My sister and Mircea have already started on a preliminary plan, meaning Antonio, Francis, and I have some catching up to do along with further planning. I've already stayed in bed long enough as it is," he said, pulling on his trousers and shirt.

"But—"

"No, Amelia. I have a job to do, and you have weapons to check along with Mister Zwingli. Come on, get up."

Amelia opened her mouth to argue, but quickly shut it and rolled out of bed.

Arthur was dressed and out the door by the time her feet landed on the floor.

He walked brusquely with long strides to the third floor, checking the time every chance he got. He'd slept in much longer than he had planned to.

The meeting of the four captains plus Lukas and Mircea had been set for 09:15 sharp, but it was 09:25 by the time Arthur burst into the meeting room, red-faced and out of breath.

"It's about time you showed up, _Sourcils_," Francis sniffed, taking in Arthur's disheveled appearance.

"My apologies, everyone. I'm afraid I overslept my alarm," Arthur said, sitting down between his sister and Lukas.

"Well, all that matters is that you're here now, meaning we can start discussing the plan for St Petersburg. Mircea was just briefing everyone on the preliminary ideas the two of us came up with earlier this morning, so you haven't missed much," Iona said, shutting down any more snide comments from Francis.

"By all means, please, continue then," Arthur said with a wave of his hand.

"Right. Anyways," Mircea began, squirming in his seat, "we were thinking that it might be safer to battle from the air rather than splitting up into teams on the ground. It'll be much easier for the four sorcerers to protect everyone if we're all in one central, familiar place. We also have superior firepower compared to Braginsky's main ship, the _RFK Slava_, if we mix firearms, artillery, and magic. I have no doubt that Braginsky knows by now that we're coming, and I get the feeling he'll want to face us himself to make sure we don't survive. Since the Russian Federation is known mainly for its airships, that's most likely what they'll use against us. We are sky pirates, aren't we? Why not do things the old pirate way, with both sides boarding each other's ships?"

The Romanian looked around at the individuals seated around the table, trying to gauge their reactions.

"It might just work," Lukas said after a few moments of thinking. "Mircea is right about using the 'home advantage' with magic. Magic is always more powerful when you're casting from a place with which you are familiar, and this ship is as close to a true home as any of us have right now."

"I agree. Obviously, it's just a preliminary plan, but with some tinkering and fine-tuning, it'll give us a much greater edge than Braginsky is expecting," Arthur added.

"_Ciertamente_, if the four sorcerers think it's good, then it's good," Antonio said while Francis nodded his own agreement.

"Then it's settled," Iona declared. "We'll continue to work on the intricacies of the plan and we'll start preparations early tomorrow morning."

They continued to sit and discuss other aspects of the plan for an hour, but as soon as the meeting was over, the six were blown to the four winds, or so it seemed to Arthur. He found himself wandering aimlessly until he found his way to Iona's office. Before he could even think about it, he knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" she said from within in a sing-songy voice.

"Iona, I need to talk to you," Arthur grunted impatiently, though he was entirely unsure of why he felt so annoyed. Maybe annoyed wasn't the right word. More like anxious.

"And I'm coming, _dinnae_ _fash_ _yirsel_," came the teasing reply, followed shortly by the door opening. "How may I help you, Artie-lad? Didn't we just see each other?"

"Like I said, I need to talk to you."

"You could've just approached me at the meeting, you kno—"

"It's not a captain to captain matter. It's—well, it's, argh I don't know how to put this—"

"Out with it, man."

"I need advice from my...from my...from my big sister," Arthur finally managed, his cheeks turning a brilliant red. Iona looked at him with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and amusement.

"Come in, then. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Something to eat?" she sighed.

"Tea and some food would be lovely, actually. I'm famished," Arthur answered.

Iona walked over to her desk and pressed a button on the side of her radio transmitter.

"Berwald, is there any way you could send makings for tea, along with maybe some cakes and sandwiches to my office?" she said into the microphone.

Berwald grunted in response.

"Thank you!"

After a few minutes of awkward silence and looking around the newly decorated office, Arthur felt it necessary to say something. "I really like what you've done with this place. When did you do all of this and how on earth did you manage to have all of this? Wouldn't it have been destroyed with Gilbert's ship?"

Iona chuckled lightly and strode over to the bookcase behind the desk, which was filled with books and pictures and trinkets.

"These are things I never let leave my side should I have to leave the ship. A simple extending spell works wonders on any bag," Iona said with a wink. "Mircea and I spent about four hours on it last night. The furniture and all of the big pieces were already here, but it took us a bit to figure out where to put all of my various mementoes and pictures. I couldn't sleep for more than an hour last night, so I've been tinkering with the office on and off all day. Why don't you come over and have a closer look? You may find you recognise a few pieces." She held out her hand in invitation, and Arthur joined her next to the bookcase.

Sure enough, he recognised almost all of the items on the bookshelf. In the centre of the display was a picture of all six Mackenzie-Kirkland siblings, taken the day before Alistair's deployment. It wasn't difficult to tell that they were all related, even if the six of them couldn't have been more different in personality. All five boys had strong, bushy eyebrows and mops of unruly hair, and even Iona had fairly defined eyebrows, though they were neatly groomed and still thin in comparison to her brothers'.

"Where did you get this photo? I thought Sean had taken it with him to—oh. When did you 'pay a visit' to the twins?" Arthur asked, picking up the silver-framed picture.

"Last May on my way back from Dylan's wedding. They left their apartment in Dublin unlocked, so I figured I'd take a look inside," Iona replied with a shrug.

Arthur set the picture down and turned to the photo next to it. This one showed Iona and Mircea in Norway, wrapped up in thick, woolen coats and scarves, both grinning from ear to ear. Iona's hair was a few inches shorter and tied back in a ponytail, and she still looked somewhat like the teenager who'd left her family, rather than the proud young woman she was now. Mircea, too, had a more youthful air about him, evident in the frighteningly mischievous grin he wore.

"When was this, and why isn't Gilbert in it?"

"Oh, that one? That's from the year that Mircea joined the crew, so around four and a half years ago, back when I was still 'James,' rather than Iona. Gilbert was the one who took the photo because he wanted to remember his first two crew members."

Arthur nodded and moved on, running his fingers over a folded Union Jack sitting next to a small glass case with various military decorations displayed, the centremost of which was the purple Victoria Cross—Alistair's Victoria Cross. The flag and the case sat in the dead centre of the bookshelf, right behind Iona's chair at the perfect level for being viewed as a sort of crown above the seat.

"I keep forgetting that you took that with you when you left," Arthur said in a slightly bitter tone.

"He was my twin brother and my best friend. Of course I would take it with me," Iona said sadly.

The two siblings stood in solemn silence for a few minutes until they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Enter," Iona called.

Stefan came in with a tray of various tea cakes and sandwiches, followed closely by Berwald with the teapot and a bag of tea leaves and a pitcher of water.

"Just set them on the coffee table, thank you," Iona said with a smile.

Once Berwald and Stefan had left, the Scotswoman gestured for Arthur to take a seat in one of the armchairs.

They quickly set about arranging everything, and soon, the tea was brewing and the eldest Mackenzie-Kirkland sat facing the youngest with wise jade eyes.

"So, you said you needed to speak with me. What do you need, Arthur?"

Arthur fidgeted in his seat for a few moments while he tried to find the words. He picked up a cake, nibbled at it, set it down on his plate, picked it up again, and wolfed it down. A second and third cake quickly followed.

"Amelia and I have been talking…" he began, but paused abruptly.

"I should hope you talk with your girlfriend. Should I congratulate you?"

"Funny. Anyways, we've been talking about…stuff, and, well, "_I'mgoingtoproposetoherandIwantyoutoofficiateit_," he said quickly. Iona gave him a blank stare, breaking it only to eat a sandwich and a small cake.

"You're going to have to repeat that," she sighed, taking a sip of tea.

Arthur took a deep breath and a gulp of Earl Grey, and locked eyes with his sister.

"I'm going to propose to Amelia later today, and, with everything that's going on, I'm not sure when we'll get married, but no matter when it happens, I want you to officiate. Regardless of if I ask you to marry us tomorrow or ten years from now, I want you, as Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie, to be the one who does it."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No."

"You're assuming that I'll always be on hand."

"I know, and that's not very fair of me, but Amy and I have thought long and hard about it, and we agreed that we want you to officiate, even if we have to wait a few months to see you," Arthur said calmly.

Iona gazed past him for a second or two, saying nothing.

"You think I've gone batty, don't you?" Arthur laughed nervously.

"Not at all. I think it makes perfect sense. So long as the two of you are engaged, if anything happens to you in St Petersburg, Amelia will receive half of your possessions. It's a good safety net," Iona said.

"So…you'll do it?"

"Of course I will, though I'm sure that Dylan and the twins won't be too enthused once we return to Britain after all of this mess."

Arthur grinned widely and leapt up.

"Oh, I'm so glad! Thank you so much, Iona!" he cried, picking his sister up off of her chair and spinning her around.

"Save it for your girl, Artie-lad. You'll ruin my hair if you keep doing that," Iona teased, lightly punching Arthur on the chest.

Arthur set her down, but continued smiling broadly down at her.

"Your hair looks fine, Io. Don't worry," he laughed.

"Right, well, is there anything else you needed to speak with me about?"

"Ehm, no, not that I can think of."

"Very well. Feel free to enjoy the rest of the tea and sandwiches. Hell, bring them to Amelia and the two of you can enjoy them together. Sadly, though, I must head to the bridge to relieve Francis of control. Good luck, Arthur, and go get her."

With that, Iona was out the door, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

He quickly followed her advice and carried the tray of food and tea to one of the smaller dining rooms before going to find Amelia.

"I have some great news, Amelia, dear," he said as he shut the door to the room.

**St Petersburg, Russian Federation—March 29th, 1890—21:00**

**Viktor Aleksandrov**

"How are all the preparations, Viktor? I will not be disappointed, no? I expect big show coming from you," General Braginsky said cheerily, clapping Viktor on the shoulder. The Bulgarian did his very best to control the shudder which wanted to run down his spine at the contact.

"The preparations are going well, sir. There's no way they'll survive short of extremely powerful magic, which I'm not sure they'll be able to muster."

"But you say they are four magicians."

"Indeed, I did say that, but even the four together won't be strong enough. I know one of them personally, and he's nowhere near strong enough as long as he's got the Scottish witch keeping him on a tight leash."

"Okay, I trust you on this, Viktor. I hope you are not doing the lying thing to me because you have done it to me before," Braginsky said, reminding Viktor of a child unaware of how frightening he was.

"Would you like me to detail the plan?"

"No, I will be pleasantly surprised. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, sir."

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—March 31st, 1890—23:40**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona wasn't quite sure how to feel with 20 minutes to go until it was what she had come to think of as 'G-Day' in honour of Gilbert. Sitting alone in her office, every inch of her body felt alive with nervous energy, and her mind would not stop racing.

She had already ordered the entire ship, save Mathias and herself, to bed, justifying the order by saying that they all needed to be well-rested for the upcoming attack on the Russian Federation. They'd finally crossed over the Russian border, and were quickly drawing nearer to St Petersburg.

"Deep breaths, Iona. You've done everything you possibly can for this ship and those aboard it. Every shielding spell and protection spell known to man has been cast, every gun and every cannon has been cleaned, loaded, and provided with near endless supplies of ammunition. Everybody knows the plan. All that's left now is to arrive," she mused, fiddling with her silver Claddagh ring and tightening her blue and silver cloak around her shoulders.

She glanced at the picture sitting on her desk, smiling faintly at Alistair's goofy, cheeky grin.

"What I wouldn't give to have you with me right now, Ali. You would know what to do. You'd be a better captain than I am," she said sadly, picking up the photo and running her thumb over Alistair's face. "Come back…"

Once again, Iona was transported back to the last time she'd seen her twin, the memory just as painful now as it had been a few weeks previous.

_"…Remember that cloak I gave you?" Alistair said._

_"Aye. It's up in my room," Iona muttered, trying to wipe away her tears. Alistair chuckled and ran a thumb across Iona's cheek._

_"Well, whenever you feel like you miss me too much, just wrap yourself up in it and pretend I'm sitting there with you, listening to you tell stories again, or singing with you. Before you know it, I'll be home."_

_Iona nodded sadly and wrapped her arms around Alistair's midsection tightly. The older twin responded by enveloping her in a warm embrace._

_"I have to go now, but I'll be home for Christmas. I love you, Sister-mine, and no matter how far away I am, I'm here for you. Remember that," Alistair said, kissing the top of his sister's head._

_"I love you too, Brother-mine," Iona whispered, tears falling on the glass pane of the picture frame._

The cloak had been charmed to smell like Alistair, a feat which he'd gone out of his way to do before giving the cloak to his sister, and which now provided infinite comfort to the surviving twin.

"What would you do if you were in my position, Ali? I feel so lost."

She received no reply but the flickering of the candle on the coffee table. More tears rolled down her cheeks, but Iona didn't even bother to wipe them away. There was no point, she figured, not when they'd be replaced with more.

She folded her arms on the desk and rested her head upon them, resigning herself to sleeping in her office rather than in her best friend's arms, simply because she was too exhausted to get up and leave the room.

"I feel so alone…Just give me a sign," she mumbled, just as the candle blew out of its own accord.

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—April 1st, 1890—01:00**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

Mircea awoke to two very strange feelings. The first feeling was the physical loneliness of being the only one in the bed at one in the morning the night before a battle. The second feeling, however, was what had woken the Romanian. For some inexplicable reason, Mircea felt as though he wasn't the only presence in the room, yet there was no one else there.

"It's just nerves. Back to sleep," he mumbled. He started to climb back into bed, but someone in the open doorway caught his eye.

"Who are you?" he called, but the person in the doorway said nothing.

Mircea jumped up and quickly put on his trousers, determined to at least face the stranger fully clothed. The stranger stepped out into the hall, motioning for Mircea to follow him.

"Okay, Daniel. You can cut it out now. I'm sufficiently spooked," Mircea sighed. The stranger stopped and wheeled around, locking eyes with Mircea.

"You're not Daniel…" Mircea gasped.

He studied the stranger closely in the light of the gas lamps which lined the hallway.

The man was a good six or seven inches taller than he was, and had the same lean muscular build as Arthur. Just like the younger Kirkland, the man's eyebrows were wild and his hair could only be referred to as a mop of brilliant red. It was his eyes, however, which really made the hairs on the back of Mircea's neck stand up. The facial shape was fairly reminiscent of Iona, but the eyes were nearly identical in shape, with the same knowing and mischievous sparkle in a field of green, though the man's were a darker shade, closer to Arthur's.

"No…there's no way. You can't be," Mircea whispered, earning a nod and a smile from the stranger, who turned back down the hallway and waved Mircea along. The Romanian wordlessly followed.

Finally, they stopped in the lounge outside of Iona's office and sat opposite each other.

"She's in there alone."

"Wait…you can talk?"

"O' coorse Ah kin blether, ye gowk. Juist fur I'm...well...you ken whit A'm, doesn't mean that Ah dinnae hae a voice."

"Cerul mă ajute…"

"Noo, as Ah wis saying, Iona's in thare alone, 'n' if thare wis ever a time whin she absolutely didnae need tae be alone, tis noo."

"So you dragged me out of bed? Also, do you think you could try to speak a little bit less...well, Scottish?"

There was a flurry of movement, and the visitor hit Mircea upside the back of the head.

"Ow! Hey! I didn't even realise you could do that!" Mircea cried, earning yet another, albeit smaller, hit to the head.

"Wull ye hush? Th' rest o' this ship is asleep, 'n' ye'r juist squawking up a storm," the visitor hissed.

"Okay, okay. Stop hitting me, Ghost Boy, or else I'll exorcise you into next year," Mircea groaned, swatting the visitor away.

"Dinnae ca' me 'Ghost Boy' again 'n' we hae a deal," the visitor growled.

"Deal. Now, what exactly did you pull me out of bed for?"

"Ma sister needs ye."

"So you really are him…Anyways, why does she need me? She was the one who sent me away."

"Fur ye'r a' aboot tae gang intae battle 'n' she's suppose tae leid th' charge. Fur she's stressed oot o' her mynd 'n' scared tae death. Fur she's aye juist a lonely wanderer at hert wha wid gie anythin' tae gied the pitch fae a' o' this if she didnae think she wid lose ye. Fur she loues ye mair than she even loues her ain fowk."

"And I thought Iona's accent was strong...could-could you repeat that?" Mircea said.

The visitor glared daggers at Mircea, and ran a hand through messy red hair, much the same as Arthur often did.

"She needs you because you're all about to go into battle and she's supposed to lead the charge. She needs you because she's stressed out of her mind and scared to death. She needs you because she's still just a lonely wanderer at heart that would give anything to run far away from all of this if she wasn't so scared about losing you. She needs you because she loves you more than she loves even her own family, dammit."

"She…loves me?"

"She's tellt ye that afore!"

"I know, I know, but it's just weird to hear that since I'm still not sure what she actually meant."

"Juist gang in thare, ye bloody gowk. Ah dinnae hae muckle time 'n' Ah dinnae wantae shite whit ah dae hae convincing ye tae jimmy up."

"Huh?"

"Will you just go in to the damn bloody office, you blasted fool? I don't actually have much time and I don't want to waste what I've got left trying to convince you to just man up and grow a pair!"

Mircea nodded and rose from his couch, crossing over to the door in three large strides.

"Okay. Just gotta knock on the door, right?" he muttered to himself. He did just that, though he didn't expect any reply. After a few beats, he opened the door.

"Thank you, Alistair," he said, turning back to the lounge, but found that there was no one there.

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—April 1st, 1890—01:30**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona wasn't quite sure how long she'd been asleep, but even without being able to look in the mirror across the room, she knew she'd been asleep long enough to get a lovely red mark on her forehead from resting it on her embroidered jacket sleeve.

"That's a great look for you, _draga_," Mircea's voice said through the darkness of the office.

"It's pitch black in here, Mir. How can you tell?" Iona mumbled, searching for a candle or the gas lamp.

Much to her surprise, she found Mircea sitting at one of the chairs in front of her desk when she lit the lamp. He was a good ten feet closer than she'd expected.

"You should come to bed. It's late," the Romanian said softly, looking at her with concern in his eyes.

"I have to get up early tomorrow. I didn't want to wake you," Iona lied, not wanting to admit that she simply had worn herself out so much that she hadn't had the energy to leave the office.

"You're not a great liar, Iona. You should've told me and I would've carried you if you asked." Mircea stood up and walked around to stand next to Iona, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Why are you awake? What time is it?"

"The bed was cold, and it's about 01:30."

Iona stared up at him, not noticing the cloak slipping off of her shoulders until Mircea caught it as it fell to the ground entirely.

"You repaired the hem," he said, running his fingers over the half-moon shaped section sewn back on with silver thread.

"Aye, I did. Turns out that Gilbert held onto the section he ripped off. I found it in his pocket when we were preparing for the…for the funeral," Iona said. Mircea draped the cloak around the Scotswoman and extended his hand.

"Come on. You need to actually sleep," he said in way of explanation. Iona gingerly took it, only to be literally swept off of her feet and into Mircea's arms.

"What're you doing?" Iona muttered blearily, not entirely awake.

"Taking you to bed, _draga_ _mea_."

Iona started to say something, but closed her mouth and rested her head against her friend's shoulder.

"Still not a dragon," she finally mumbled.

They were both silent the entire way to their shared room, Iona being too tired to think, let alone say anything, and Mircea being too awake and hyper-alert to form a coherent sentence.

The Romanian gently set Iona down on her side of the bed when they entered the room.

"Do you want me to get your nightgown or anything for you?" he asked.

"Mmmrphno," came the slurred reply of a very sleepy Scotswoman.

"You're going to sleep in your clothing?"

"I can get my nightclothes by myself, Mircea. I'm exhausted, not paralysed."

To prove her point, Iona opened her eyes and rolled off of the bed, staggering a little as she stood, but maintaining the majority of her balance with Mircea's help. He stayed close to her as she walked over to her dresser and pulled out a simple white nightgown.

"You know, you don't have to monitor me. I can handle myself just fine, plus, I have to actually undress and put this on, meaning you're going to have to not look."

Mircea caught the hint, stepped back, and turned around so that he was facing away from Iona.

Ten minutes and a few swears later, Iona announced, "Okay, you can turn back now."

Mircea did just that and smiled broadly at Iona.

"Are you going to get in bed, or are you just going to continue standing there and smiling like that?" Iona said with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not going to do either of those," Mircea said, taking a step and a half towards her so that their faces were mere centimetres apart.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him. Iona placed her hands on his chest, suddenly awake from the rush of adrenaline that now raced through her veins.

"Maybe once or twice, but not recently," she responded.

"You're gorgeous, Iona, and even that's an understatement," Mircea whispered.

"I do hope you care about more than just my looks, Mircea, nice as that is to hear," Iona teased, moving her hands up to his shoulders.

"I thought that was understood. _Te iubesc pentru tine. Aspectul tale sunt doar un bonus_," Mircea countered with a chuckle.

"I don't understand Romanian, you silly fool."

"I know you don't, _draga_ _mea_, but I'm better at expressing myself in Romanian than I am in English."

"Then translate for me."

"I love you for you. Your looks are just a bonus," Mircea said, reaching down and brushing an errant curl from Iona's face.

Iona grinned happily while Mircea continued to attempt to put his feelings into English.

"I've loved you for a long time, Iona. You and Stefan are all that matter to me, and I know it's a bad time because we're going into battle in a few hours, but I had to tell you in case anything happened. I love you dearly, and I will do all that I can to prove that and to protect you and—"

Iona didn't let him finish.

"Mircea?" she interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Shut up and kiss me already."

She didn't have to tell him twice.

Iona's focus narrowed, her only thought being that she couldn't let go of Mircea. Her hands found their way up to Mircea's strawberry blond hair, just as one of Mircea's hands wove its way into her own mahogany curls. All worries about the coming battle disappeared, replaced by a confidence from knowing that as long as she and Mircea were together, everything would be fine.

When they finally broke apart, neither of them could speak, but they didn't care. No words were needed.

Mircea waited for Iona to tell him that they shouldn't be doing this, not the night before the battle, but the admonition never came.

"I love you too, Mircea," was all she said, burying her face in his chest, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck.

"What do you say we go to sleep now? It's late," Mircea suggested, stepping back to look at his best friend.

"That sounds wonderful," Iona said.

_**The **__**Phoenix**_**—April 1st, 1890—09:00**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

"Captain Bonnefoy, sir, we're coming into St Petersburg airspace," Vash called from his seat on the bridge.

"I should hope so, Mister Zwingli," Francis said, wondering why his usually logical first mate would be telling him what he already knew.

"Yes, but there's a catch."

"_Quoi_?"

"It seems as though every European country has sent at least three of its best ships behind us. We aren't the only ones who intend to attack the Russian Federation today. The Russians also seem to know that we're coming, because their entire fleet is ahead of us."

Francis nearly choked on his espresso.

"The United European Air Force. I thought it was just something the others made up to scare us into being more cautious. Call the other three up here. They need to know about this."

Fifteen minutes later, all four captains stood assembled in front of the panoramic window, looking worried and confused.

"What do we do? Surely the UEAF will attack us if we try to attack Braginsky since they recognise the ship by now and will use the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, but if we don't act soon, the Russians will attack everybody," Antonio said.

"I wish I had an easy answer to that, Toni," Francis said.

Arthur groaned and ran a hand through his hair, while Iona paced silently off to the side, deep in thought.

"We should just go ahead with the original plan, and the European forces be damned. We can't halt everything just because of an unanticipated event," Arthur grumbled.

"That would be suicide," Antonio cried.

"This entire mission is suicide, if you haven't already realised," Arthur snapped.

"_Sourcils_, Toni's right. We shouldn't jump in without thinking this through. We should try to save as many of our lives as possible," Francis scolded.

"We should try to contact the European forces and work out a deal with them," Ludwig added from behind Antonio.

"That could work," Arthur hummed thoughtfully.

"What do we have to lose?" Francis said.

"Well, quite a bit, but it's worth a shot," Antonio shrugged.

"I'm in," Iona called from her perch near the glass.

"What do we tell them?" Francis asked.

"And what poor soul has to speak with them?" Arthur snorted.

"Well, Captain Kirkland, I was actually thinking that you'd be the best man for the job since technically, you're not an outlaw or doing anything illegal. You're being paid to be a pirate, so they'll respond better to you," Ludwig replied. Arthur paled considerably and opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air.

"I second that motion," Iona quipped, shooting her brother an impish grin.

"All in favour, say 'aye,'" Ludwig said.


	22. Chapter 22: The Bond of Sacrifice

_**The Phoenix**_**—April 1st, 1890—10:00**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"Have we locked on to the Italian ship's radio frequency, Mister Steilsson?" Arthur called, looking at Emil with a questioning face.

"Yes. We're ready when you are," Emil replied.

"Then let's get to it."

Emil flicked on the necessary switches, and the board in front of him lit up in red like a Christmas tree.

"This is _The Phoenix _calling. Do you copy?" Emil said into the microphone next to him.

"_Si, signore_, we copy. Identify yourself," an Italian man said.

"This is RAF Captain Arthur Mackenzie-Kirkland of _The Phoenix_. I request to speak with your commanding officer immediately," Arthur stated, standing still in front of the panoramic window, hands clasped behind his back. Iona watched from a perch on the railing in front of the window, her face blank.

"This is General Lucius Vargas, captain of this ship and interim head of the UEAF. What do you damn pirates want?" another voice snarled over the radio.

"General Vargas, is there any way you can connect us to the other European leaders? I want everyone to hear what I have to say."

"Why the hell would I do that? Why do you think I even want to listen to what you pirates have to say?" Vargas snarled.

"Well, for one, I'm not actually a pirate. The rest of my shipmates might be, but I personally am an officer of the RAF," Arthur said through gritted teeth.

"But you're still the captain of a pirate ship, Mister Kirkland. I see no difference."

"General Vargas, this is a matter of utmost importance and frankly, we don't have the time for this. Can you just connect this conversation to the other European leaders for God's sake?" Arthur finally snapped.

Vargas could be heard saying something to his radioman in hushed Italian, but ten minutes later, the entirety of the European fleet was connected to _The Phoenix_'s radio.

"Speak, pirate," Commander Whittard of the RAF said curtly.

"No need to be so rude to a fellow officer, Commander Whittard. I call with the intention of proposing something to you gentlemen. I and my fellow captains Bonnefoy, Carriedo, and Kirkland-Mackenzie request a meeting with the leaders of this 'United European Air Force' at a location of your choosing, but one that will be designated as neutral for the duration of the meeting. There we will lay out a proposal for a battle against the Russian Federation," Arthur said coolly.

"You assume that we're here for a battle against the Russian Federation, Captain Kirkland," Whittard said. "How do you know that we aren't here for you ragged lot?"

"Well, that'd be horribly silly, wouldn't it? You're trying to tell me that you brought the full force of the UEAF just to combat a single pirate ship over Russian territory? I'd say it's pretty obvious that you're here for the same reason we are, Commander."

A round of muffled snickers could be heard coming through the radio from other ships, and both Whittard and Vargas made strange gasping noises.

Finally, though, it seemed that Vargas regained his composure.

"How do we know that this isn't some sort of trap? How do we know that you lot won't just murder us all the moment we agree to any sort of meeting?" he growled.

"Well, it would be the four of us against however many there are of you. I assume the logistics alone would dispel that fear."

There was silence for ten minutes, indicating that the UEAF leaders had opened up a second channel between them.

"We agree to your meeting," Vargas finally said defeatedly.

"Excellent. Name your location and a time."

"We will be expecting you aboard my ship at 13:00, Captain Mackenzie-Kirkland. That gives you plenty of time to prepare. We will see you then."

"Understood. Until then, Commander."

Static filled the room, muffling the silence that had descended upon _The Phoenix_.

"You heard the man. Begin preparations immediately," Iona said suddenly. As if by magic, everyone on the bridge sprang to life.

"Can you three at least try to look nice?" she remarked upon seeing the other three captains. All four looked worse for the wear.

"Speak for yourself. You don't look so great either," Francis quipped.

"Just go do it please."

With no further argument, the four captains hurried to their respective rooms.

_**The Phoenix**_** — April 1st, 1890 — 12:20**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

The four captains sat around the conference table, trying to hammer out the plan for the meeting.

"What's the plan once we arrive? Should we maybe choose someone to be the main spokesperson?" Arthur said.

"Huh…I hadn't thought of that," Antonio mused.

"Me neither, Toni. I don't think any of us did," Francis said.

"Well, that's why I'm bringing it up now, before we leave," Arthur sighed.

Iona shrugged. "I will. Let me be the mouthpiece."

The other three stared at her for a few moments, confused and surprised.

"Iona…" Arthur said. "Some of these men are from the RAF. I know how you feel about them. Plus, shouldn't I maybe be the main speaker? I'm the only one of us who's not technically an outlaw. Isn't that why you all had me speak to them on the radio earlier?"

"The past is in the past, Arthur. It's not their fault that Alistair was killed. He chose to join the RAF. He knew what he was doing, what sort of danger he was getting himself into. He would want me to speak to them," the Scotswoman said, her eyes filled with determination.

"Are you sure? I think it sounds like something of a bad idea, Iona," Arthur said.

"Then why even bring it up at all? Or were you hoping that none of the three of us would volunteer and you'd get to speak for the entire crew again? I'm a captain of this ship, too. I mean, of course I assumed that you'd probably be our speaker, but now that you seem to have given us a choice, I want to, Brother-mine."

"Ion—"

"Let her," Francis said forcefully, meeting Iona's gaze. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn't going to back down.

"Antonio? What do you think?" Arthur said pleadingly.

"I think it would be wise to allow Iona to head this delegation. She's definitely the scariest," the Spaniard answered.

"But doesn't she have too personal a claim?" Arthur said.

"We all have a fairly personal claim to this, but we can't let that cloud our judgement, Arthur. Just let me do this. We can't have you stealing all the glory," Iona said with a levelling gaze.

Arthur sighed defeatedly, then looked at his sister with a smile.

"Very well then. Good luck, Iona. I hope you know what you're doing," he said, reaching over and placing a hand on top of Iona's.

"Worry not, Little Brother. _Luceo non uro_," Iona said softly.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," Antonio called.

Tino walked in looking sheepish.

"Shouldn't all of you begin final preparations? You're supposed to be leaving in twenty minutes," the Finn said.

"_Merde_, this little meeting has taken a while, hasn't it?" Francis hissed.

The four captains left the room silently, a sense of anxiety clearly filling them.

_**The Phoenix**_** — April 1st, 1890 — 12:45**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Twenty-five minutes later, they assembled in the airlock, watching as Sadik, Matthew, Jack, and Mircea finished preparing a safety craft, hiding weapons in various places and ensuring that shields were at full power.

"Are y'all sure this is a good idea?" Amelia said nervously, hugging Arthur's arm tightly.

"It's all we've got, Amelia darling. Everything will be okay," Arthur soothed, though the anxious glint in his eyes told a different story.

"Don't worry, Amelia. Arthur's right, we'll be fine. This is just a meeting of potential allies to figure out the battle plan. Shouldn't take more than a few hours," Iona said calmly, her gaze meeting Mircea's.

"Go make sure that the Vargas sisters are prepared for our assault of the _RFK Slava_. I'm sure that Mister Zwingli, Mister Køhler, and Mister Väinämöinen would also appreciate your help in ensuring that all weaponry aboard the ship is set. We'll be back before you know it, then the real fun will begin," Arthur said. Amelia nodded solemnly and stole a quick kiss from the Englishman before leaving the airlock.

"Well, _mis amigos_, it's time," Antonio sighed.

"Relax, Toni. Like Iona said, this is simply a peaceful meeting of allies. No need to sigh like that," Francis chuckled, clapping Antonio on the back.

"Enough chit chat. We must get going," Arthur said, making his way down the stairs and up the ramp onto the safety vessel. Antonio and Francis followed close behind, and Iona brought up the rear.

"Open the airlock, Mister Bălan. If we are not back within one hundred twenty minutes, close the airlock and defer to the contingency plan we discussed earlier. I leave you and Mister Oxenstierna in charge," Iona called as she tied her cloak around her shoulders.

"Aye, Captain," Mircea replied mechanically, inputting the opening sequence on the computer. The giant doors roared to life, lights running up the inside and gears whirring as they opened.

Iona pulled her hood over her head for warmth, her cloak billowing in the chilly wind. Mircea was entirely certain he'd never seen her looking so cold and so proud, but he also felt a sense of fear at watching her go. He wished more than anything he could see her off properly, but they'd agreed earlier that morning not to let anyone know of the change in their dynamic.

The Scotswoman looked at the other three captains, sharing nervous glances and small, soft smiles of reassurance with the men who'd come to be her family, and the man who actually was her family.

The safety craft was spit out into the bitter air faster than any of them could register, _The Phoenix_ quickly becoming a small dot compared to the larger ships of the various European nations.

"How long until we reach Vargas's ship, Francis?" Antonio yelled, trying to be heard over the rushing wind.

"_Approximativment dix minutes_," Francis responded, pointing to one of the larger Italian ships. Iona crossed herself as she stared at the airship ahead of them.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?" she called, grabbing Arthur's hand.

"Don't worry, Iona. You said it yourself: this is a peaceful meeting. Nothing to worry about," Arthur said, giving his sister's hand an encouraging squeeze.

"Yes, but we are three pirates and a borderline-mutinous privateer. The cards are more than a little stacked against us," Iona said tiredly. She gave Arthur her best big sister look, the kind that said she had a point.

"So? They agreed, more or less on their honour, and so did we. There's nothing to fear."

"But _Angleterre_, she's right," Francis added. "They were worried about this meeting being a trap, but what if their agreeing to the meeting is actually a trap? They'd get two birds with one stone by taking the four of us out and then taking control of _The Phoenix_ to help combat the Russian Federation."

"We just have to trust them. It's too late anyway," Arthur snapped. "Now stop arguing. I'd like to have a few minutes to think in relative silence."

They were quiet for the rest of the ride as the four captains prepared themselves mentally and emotionally for not only the meeting in which they were about to partake, but also the hours and even days that lay ahead.

They could see guards posted at the airlock of Vargas's ship through a set of windows, and Iona felt a knot form in her stomach as it truly dawned on her what they were about to do.

_We're a bunch of kids compared to these guys. How the hell are we expecting them to take us seriously? _she thought to herself. She wished more than anything that she could be back in her bed in London, surrounded by her brothers and her parents, before any of the tragedies had hit, and long before all of this pirate business. All of the fears and regrets and sadness of the past five years came at her like a hurricane, and she wanted nothing more than to have Alistair by her side at that moment.

"_A'm aye wi' ye, Sister-mine_. _En ma fin est mon commencement,"_ Alistair's voice echoed in her head. Iona closed her eyes, focusing on the smell of her cloak—Alistair's smell.

"_Ah shine nae burn. Mind that, Iona. Noo open yer een, mah sister."_

"Alistair…" Iona whispered, her eyes still firmly shut, a tear slipping silently down her cheek.

"_Iona, yer mah twin, mah sister, mah closest mukker, mah ither hauf, 'n' a loue ye sae muckle, bit it's aboot time tae shift oan. Open yer een, Wee Yin."_

At that, Iona's flew open, just in time to see the airlock of Vargas's ship open to greet them. She looked around, meeting Arthur's gaze, squeezing his hand tightly.

"I heard him too, Iona. I miss him too," Arthur said. He embraced his sister as they stood.

"I love you, Baby Brother," Iona said softly.

"I love you too, Iona."

"Are you two done? They're waiting on us," Francis called with a pointed look.

"Yes, sorry," Arthur said, letting go of Iona and smoothing out his jacket.

They stepped off of the safety vessel as a quartet, handing their cloaks to attendants as they ascended a set of stairs leading into the main body of the ship. _The Phoenix_ was by no means a small ship — it was actually one of the largest commercial ships in all of Europe, but to the four captains, the UEAF's military ships made their beautiful bird look like a speck of dust.

A tall man with long blond hair greeted them at the top of the staircase.

"You are unarmed?" he said coldly.

"Yes, but you can check us if you'd like," Arthur replied. The man simply nodded and pushed the large doors in front of them open.

"This way. The generals are waiting."

They followed him through a maze of halls and rooms, marvelling at the sheer enormity of the Italian ship and feeling very, very small.

Finally, the man stopped at a set of handsome oak doors that were decorated with intricate designs of knot work and vines and flowers, and knocked three times.

The doors opened, as if by their own accord, and the blond man waved the quartet in.

The room was cavernous in comparison to the conference room on _The Phoenix_, and Iona suddenly felt very worried about her friends.

_What if things go wrong? What if I say the wrong thing? This was a very ba—_

"Please, you four, sit. Can we get you anything to eat or drink?" a deep Belgian baritone said. The voice was warm and kind, and while Francis, Antonio, and Arthur sat, Iona hesitated, her anxiety and insecurity freezing her.

"Iona," Arthur hissed. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"I-I-I can't," Iona mumbled. She looked nervously around the room, taking note of the faces staring at her expectantly.

"Is there an issue, my dear?" Vargas said, his voice kind and warm. The four pirate captains were taken aback, confused by the Italian's sudden gentleness towards Iona. It went against everything they had expected. "We mean you no harm. Here, why don't we get you some tea. Perhaps that will help. Otto, will you bring this young lady a cup of tea? I'm sure she must be feeling a little overwhelmed. Will that make you feel better Miss—?"

"Captain. Captain Kirkland-Mackenzie," Iona snapped, feeling herself come back to life. "And tea would be lovely, thanks, though you should also ask my fellow captains."

All of the men at the table seemed surprised at the Scotswoman, apparently not expecting a female captain.

Iona revelled in their shock as she took her seat and accepted the cup of tea offered by a harried-looking attendant.

After a few moments, the UEAF leaders recovered, smiling politely at the four young captains. Once everyone had settled with drinks of their choice, Vargas cleared his throat, signalling that the meeting had officially begun.

"Captain Mackenzie-Kirkland said that you four had a proposition for us?" the Italian general said.

"We do, General Vargas," Arthur said.

"Do tell, Captain Mackenzie-Kirkland."

"Actually, Captain Kirkland-Mackenzie would be better suited for this, sir. It is her idea, after all," Arthur said with a smirk. Again, the table of generals gaped, looking from Arthur to Iona in shock.

"Are you gentlemen done sitting there with your mouths hanging open, or should I wait a few more minutes before I share our idea with you?" Iona purred, her confidence growing. She quickly added in a much gentler voice, "I'm sorry if I'm being rude. I certainly don't mean to be. It's just that we really don't have the time for gaping and sitting in silence when I'm sure that the Russian Federation has guessed by now that an attack is imminent. I do hope you will all forgive me."

_Alistair, give me the strength to do this._

"_Aye, Sister-mine. Aye."_

"I'm going to make this short and sweet. Braginsky is ours," the Scotswoman said coldly.

"Excuse me?" a Spanish general yelped, choking on his coffee.

"You heard me. General Braginsky belongs to the crew of _The Phoenix_. It's obvious that the UEAF is a very new thing created in response to the Russian threat, but as representatives of your governments, all of you are bound by laws. However, since we are pirates, we can get away with a lot…more. We can even take more drastic measures if need be. Allowing us to take on Braginsky would also free up more of your resources. We just ask that you leave Braginsky and his ship to us. We don't want to work with all of you any more than all of you want to work with us. We don't play well with others. If you fired on Braginsky while our crew was aboard his ship, we wouldn't be able to guarantee that the fire wouldn't be returned. In exchange, we allow the UEAF to take down the rest of the Russian Federation, as well as take all of the credit for the victory."

"We cannot accept that, Miss—"

"Captain."

"Captain Kirkland-Mackenzie, you and your crew are little more than a group of kids. I'm afraid we cannot trust such an important task to a group of kids out for glory," Vargas said sternly.

"I assure you, General, I have already considered this fact and dispelled any concerns regarding the issue. Even if it were true that we were, as you say, 'a group of kids out for glory,' we could still successfully take down Ivan Braginsky."

"What makes you all so confident? And how do we know you won't just turn on us? How do we know you're not all in league with Braginsky since you're asking us to refrain from attacking him?"

"We have motivation," Iona replied. "Europe is our home, for one thing. For another, it is due to the Russian general that we lost two ships and a captain. Our crew is made up of individuals from nearly every European nation, including those currently occupied by the Russian Federation. We understand completely that you may have the stronger claim, but personally, I feel that the advantage is in our court. Braginsky will almost certainly expect a direct attack from the UEAF. He will not, however, expect a direct attack from a group of pirates. Even if he did, we have four magicians, a Finnish sniper, and a whole range of other assets that would give us the upper hand against the Russian general. All we ask is that you consider."

Vargas looked dumbfounded. He had to admit, there was some truth to the young woman's statement, even if he really and truly hated it. That, however, did not mean he would back down so easily, and he looked to Commander Whittard for some sort of answer, and was not disappointed.

"So what exactly do you mean when you say that Braginsky is 'yours'?" the Brit asked. He locked eyes with Iona, but the Scotswoman stood firm. "And what would the UEAF get in return?"

"The crew of _The Phoenix_ will board Braginsky's ship with the intent of finding and neutralising him. Once we have incapacitated the general, we will fire without mercy on the _RFK Slava_. Any European ship that attempts to surpass us and attack Braginsky's ship will be treated as an enemy and will be fired upon. The rest of the Federation's fleet is, in casual terms, 'fair game,' but again, Braginsky and his ship belong to us. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen? As for any sort of compromise, I can offer you none. We're pirates, remember?" Iona said, her voice full of ice. It was obvious that Iona's antagonism made the UEAF leaders uncomfortable, and in truth, Iona didn't entirely understand why she was being so rude. She hadn't planned to be such a witch.

"Again, gentlemen," she continued, "I do apologise for my rudeness. I don't completely know why I'm being so awful since I do actually have the utmost respect for all of you. All four of us are under a lot of stress — which I'm sure all of you share — but perhaps you're correct in viewing us as a bunch of kids. We've never faced anything like this and it's terrifying to say the very least, but we are determined to stick to our proposal and our plan. Please don't make your decision based upon my actions alone."

The UEAF leaders whispered amongst themselves, occasionally glancing at the four pirates.

"Worry not, Captain Kirkland-Mackenzie. You are young and inexperienced, and yes, we do share your fear, but we've had much longer to learn how to control it. Give us some time to consider your proposition. Otto will lead the four of you to the lounge," Whittard said kindly. Iona nodded, and she and the other three captains were escorted out of the room by the tall blond man.

_**Il Custode della Pace—**_**April 1st, 1890—14:30**

**General Lucius Vargas**

"Well, what do we think? Should we accept?" the French delegate said.

"Personally, I'm inclined to say yes," Whittard said pensively.

"Are you insane?" Lucius balked.

"No, I'm quite right in the head, thank you. I'm curious to see what these kids can do. I'm especially curious to observe Captain Kirkland-Mackenzie's leadership skills under stress."

"Please tell me you're not thinking—"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking, Michael. I think she might be just the person we're looking for."

"God Almighty, you are insane, but you have a point. Perhaps we should accept their proposal, if only to see what they can actually do," Michael, the Frenchman, said.

"All in favour, say 'aye.'"

_**Il Custode della Pace**_**—April 1st, 1890—15:00**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

They were led back into the large conference room, but this time, not offered seats or refreshments.

"We have considered your offer," Whittard said.

"And?" Frances said.

"We accept. Braginsky and his ship are yours. We will not attack him."

"Excellent. Thank you for your consideration, gentlemen. Best of luck to you all," Iona said in a falsely chipper voice. She and her companions turned to leave, but Iona got the feeling that the council of generals had something more to say to her. She paid it no heed.

The four captains made their way back to their safety craft, fastening their coats and cloaks as they walked. It was obvious to everyone that all the four pirates wanted to do was return to their ship.

The flight back to _The Phoenix_ was silent, each captain lost in thought about the preparations to be made for the fight to come. Nobody knew entirely what lay ahead, and the thought terrified them.

Ten minutes later, the quartet returned to the relative safety of their ship, greeted by hugs, cheers, and handshakes at the news that they had formed a sort of alliance with the UEAF, but Iona certainly didn't feel like it was any cause for celebration. There was too much for her to be anxious about. Had she just signed everyone's death certificates?

The young Scotswoman excused herself to her room, hoping that maybe if she curled up and fell back asleep, she would wake up to find that all of this was just a terrible dream and that she was actually in her bed in the apartment she owned in Edinburgh. They were about to face off against a major world power.

Two hours later, Iona awoke to the sight of Arthur and Amelia standing in the doorway.

"How long have you two been there?" she mumbled, sitting up and smoothing her hair.

"A minute, maybe," Arthur said, walking into the room and sitting on the side of the bed. He smiled encouragingly at his sister.

"How are you?" Amelia asked, taking a seat on the small vanity chair. Iona wasn't entirely sure what to say.

"I'm fine," she finally muttered, avoiding the two pairs of eyes staring at her.

"You're lying, Iona," Arthur chided. Iona gaped, opening and closing her mouth a few times like a suffocating fish.

"You do look paler than usual, Hon," Amelia added.

Iona momentarily considered lying to them again, but, looking at the concern in Arthur's eyes, knew that she couldn't do that to her brother and his fiancée.

"What do you expect, Artie? We're about to go to war and I'm a captain. I'm terrified. I just have this gut feeling that something's going to happen," she sighed.

"Well, yeah, you just said it yourself: we're going to war. Of course something's gonna happen," Amelia said with a shrug. Arthur shot her a glare. "Sorry, but it's true."

"Anyways," Arthur said loudly, "we don't have time for this moping, Iona. We have no way of knowing when the UEAF will begin the assault since they didn't feel the need to tell us when we asked, and we need to be prepared, and that includes being able to think clearly. Now, you need to pull yourself together because us four captains need to have a meeting amongst ourselves to finalise our strategy. Can you do that for me, Iona?"

Iona sighed and nodded. "Aye, I can do that," she said.

"Wonderful. We'll leave you alone now, but I expect to see you in the main conference room in fifteen minutes. Understood?" Arthur said with another small smile.

"Understood."

Iona watched Arthur and Amelia leave, but didn't move for another few minutes as she tried to put her thoughts in order.

"Well, Iona-lass," she muttered to herself, "it's now or never."

_**The Phoenix**_**—April 1st, 1890—18:45**

**Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo**

"We definitely need to get Romana and her _hermanita_ off of this ship before the battle starts," Antonio said.

The four captains had been hashing out the battle plan for an hour and it felt like they'd gotten nowhere except to say that Antonio and Francis would take on Braginsky himself while Arthur, Iona, Lukas, and Mircea provided magical cover and kept most of Braginsky's men distracted.

"Yes, as well as Stefan and Emil," Arthur added. The other three captains nodded in agreement.

"But where would they go? We can't just drop them off in St Petersburg," Antonio said.

"Perhaps the UEAF will have an administrative ship or a supply ship that won't be taking part in the battle," Francis said with a shrug and a hopeful look.

"I suppose it's worth asking," Iona said. She turned to Berwald. "Could you be so kind as to radio over to Vargas's ship and ask him if they have any ships that will be safe and willing to take on an extra four passengers? Tell him that two of them would be his granddaughters."

Berwald grunted in affirmation and left the room.

"So we're really about to do this, are we?" Arthur sighed, looking at each of his fellow captains.

"Aye, we are. There's really not much more planning to be done, is there?" Iona chuckled bitterly. She smiled sadly and toyed with the white gold locket around her neck.

"No, _lamentablemente_," Antonio mused. The conference room was stiflingly silent as all four captains got lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Berwald re-entered.

"They'll s'nd over a transport vessel s'n," he said.

"Tell them to get ready, then," Antonio said. "And don't forget to let Lukas, Mircea, and Ludwig know as well!"

Berwald left the room again without another word.

"Toni, you should probably go see Romana off," Iona said, breaking the silence after another fifteen minutes.

"_Vale_," Antonio murmured with a nod. He stood up, looked around the room, and left silently.

He walked to the airlock soundlessly, as if his body was being moved by some invisible force.

"There you are, _bastardo_," Romana snapped, bringing the Spaniard out of his trance. The short Italian woman stood a few feet away, a small leather suitcase by her feet.

"_Lo siento_, Roma."

"It's fine, I guess. At least you showed up, you stupid Tomato-idiot," she mumbled, turning her face away from Antonio. "Be careful, okay? You're not allowed to get killed and you have to come back."

Antonio smiled softly and closed the gap between the two of them. "Of course I'll be careful, Romana. _Te amo demasiado como para no volver_."

Romana gave him a rare smile and wrapped her arms tightly around his midsection.

"_Ti amo, _Antonio," she whispered.

"_Te amo_, Romana."

_**The Phoenix—**_**The Same Time**

**Alexandru Mircea B****ălan**

"You have to promise to be good, _Fratele_," Mircea said, squatting down so that he was at eye-level with Stefan.

"_Da, îți promit!_" Stefan said, throwing his arms around Mircea's neck.

"Good. This will all be over soon, but until then, you stay with Feliciana and her sister and Emil, got it?" Mircea hugged his brother back.

"Got it! You and Miss Iona be safe, okay?"

"Of course."

At that, Stefan ran over to where Feliciana and Ludwig stood, obliviously interrupting a fairly romantic moment. Mircea shook his head and chuckled, amused at his little brother's antics.

He watched as his little brother and the other three boarded the UEAF vessel, and didn't stop watching until the doors of the airlock had closed and his only surviving family was safe.

Mircea ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair and made his way to the room he shared with Iona, removing his red wool military coat and folding it.

"Don't want this to get ruined," he mumbled, placing it on the armchair in the corner of the room. He made sure to grab a small photograph from the inside pocket and slipped it into a pocket on the black jacket he planned to wear.

"See you on the other side," he said to the room as he shut the door and walked down towards the galley.

_**The Phoenix**_**—April 1st, 1890—22:45**

**Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy**

The air in the ship was tense. They'd just received word from UEAF Commander Whittard that the assault on the Russian Fleet, and therefore the battle with Braginsky and his men, was imminent and that they should all be on standby, ready to dock with the _RFK Slava_.

Francis stood alone in the observation deck, staring blankly at the large Russian ship ahead of them.

"Penny for your thoughts?" a voice behind him said. Francis turned around, finding Iona standing in the doorway, a tired, gentle smile on her face.

"_Ça fait longtemps, mon vieil ami._"

"_Oui, Francis, c'est vrai._"

"_Iona, ma ch__ère__, tu es devenue plus forte._"

"_Non, j'ai juste grandi._"

"Indeed, you have grown up, my dear," Francis said, returning the smile.

"Six years really have flown by, haven't they?"

Francis chuckled, sitting on one of the benches lining the wall of windows.

"_Oui_."

"_Tempus fugit_," Iona chided, walking into the room and sitting down in the middle of the floor.

"How did we even get here, to this point? I don't remember ever wishing to go up against a world power when I set out," Francis sighed.

"A series of strange coincidences, I suppose. Maybe it's God's way of punishing all of us for the trouble we've caused."

"If we're to die tonight, then we all burn together," Arthur said, entering the room. He sat on the bench opposite Francis.

"A captain always goes down with his—or her—ship," Francis said with a shrug. "Well, hopefully that won't be true for us."

"Then how about we focus on not going down, _vale_?" Antonio added as he joined them.

"How fitting that all of us are here," Iona quipped with a smirk.

"The bridge was getting too stressful," Arthur said.

"So now we just sit and wait?" Francis asked.

"Now we just sit and wait," Arthur confirmed.

"Well, boys, I don't think we're going to be waiting very long," Iona said, pointing to a spot to the east. A Russian ship was on fire, and the UEAF forces were moving at top speeds towards the rest of Braginsky's fleet.

As if on cue, Jack came running in, out of breath and wide-eyed.

"Battle…has…begun…should we…man…our stations?" he wheezed.

"Aye, Jack. Prepare for immediate docking with the _Slava_ and make sure everyone has weapons and other necessary items at the ready," Arthur said. Jack nodded and ran back the way he came.

"Well, everyone, it was nice serving with all of you," Francis said, standing.

"You all have only one order," Iona said as she stood to join Francis. "Don't die."

_**The Phoenix**_**—April 1st, 1890—23:00**

**Alexandru Mircea B****ălan**

"Docking complete, ma'am," Sadik said, looking at Iona. "Should I open the doors?"

The airlock was silent. Everyone was gathered together, waiting for the doors to open and the battle to begin.

Mircea, too, looked towards the Scotswoman, standing with the other three captains at the top of the staircase. All four looked regal and proud, but Iona, in her striking green captain's coat, black breeches, and high-heeled boots, was a force unto herself.

"Hold the doors," Iona responded, descending the top two stairs.

"It has been an honour serving alongside all of you," she began, looking from face to face and giving each crew member a smile, "and I am so proud of all of you. In the span of a few months, we have gone from twenty-eight individuals split into four different crews, to one unified family. Tonight brings together so very many emotions, the culmination of everything that we as a crew have experienced. Tonight, we fight not just for ourselves, and not just for Europe. Tonight, we fight for Gilbert's memory, for the memories of all those we have lost, and all those we love, because if we don't fight for them, what shall we fight for? Whatever happens in the coming hours, remember that you are not fighting alone."

The room was silent for a few seconds until Mathias started clapping, and was quickly followed by the rest of the crew.

Arthur let out a loud whistle, effectively silencing them again.

"Now, Mister Adnan. Open the doors."

The Sadik pressed a button and the airlock doors of _The Phoenix _roared open as Lukas forcefully opened the Russian doors with magic.

With that, all hell broke loose.

Mircea stayed by Iona's side, providing the Scotswoman with covering magic as she and Lukas blasted through groups of Russian, Latvian, Bulgarian, Polish, Romanian, and Estonian soldiers. They had separated from the other three captains almost immediately upon boarding the _Slava_, with Antonio and Francis trying to find Braginsky, Arthur and Amelia assigned to taking control of the bridge, and Iona leading the assault on the upper deck where most of the soldiers were gathered.

"Careful, Mir!" Iona called, shooting a fire spell over Mircea's head as they ran. Mircea turned around and saw a pair of Russian soldiers spraying each other with fire extinguishers, but to no avail. Magical fire was difficult to put out.

"_Mulțumesc_!"

They and the Nordic members of the crew made it to the quarterdeck of the ship.

"Okay, we need to set up the shield around _The Phoenix_ so Braginsky's men don't try to take over while we're onboard their ship," Mircea said, looking from Lukas to Iona. The Norwegian and the Scotswoman nodded.

"Why didn't we do that before we left the ship?!" Iona screeched.

"I forgot!" Mircea cried, earning an annoyed growl from his girlfriend.

"Can you keep us covered?" Lukas said to Mathias, Tino, and Berwald.

"_Ja!_" Mathias yelled, sweeping a number of Russians off their feet with his battle axe.

Tino responded by sniping a Ukrainian out of the crow's nest and Berwald simply batted away a couple of Belarusians.

The three sorcerers grabbed hands and Iona began chanting under her breath.

"_Sciath ár bhaile, sciath ár gcroí, sciath go léir go atá againn daor,_" Iona yelled in Irish, her voice layered with magic.

A golden light surrounded _The Phoenix_ and suddenly, all Russian soldiers trying to board the pirate ship, as well as those who had already boarded, were sent flying back onto the _Slava_.

"Now, let the real battle begin," Iona said, magic charging the air around her.

_**RFK Slava**_**—April 2nd, 1890—00:55**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

The battle had been raging for nearly two hours, and Arthur had only just received confirmation that Braginsky was being engaged by Francis and Antonio. Arthur and Amelia had tried taking the bridge, but had been forced to retreat because Braginsky had set a trap that only the Russian general could undo with a special key. Had they not retreated, every sharp object on the _Slava_ that wasn't currently being used would have swung down at them the moment they forced open the door with Arthur's magic. Therefore, the ship was still under Russian control. Now, the only hope of defeating the Russians was to defeat the general himself.

All around Arthur, pirates and UEAF reinforcements clashed with Braginsky's forces in a terrifying flurry of swords flashing, guns firing, and spells flying. Arthur knew it had to be that moment. "It's now or never," he mumbled to himself.

"Amelia, will you marry me?" he called, standing back-to-back with his fiancée.

"Right now?" Amelia shrieked.

"Yes, right now! There might not be another chance!"

"Then of course!"

They continued shooting, stabbing, slicing, and bludgeoning enemy soldiers as one unit, trying desperately to find Iona. Arthur finally spotted her and Mircea fending off a large group of Latvian, Bulgarian, Polish, and Romanian soldiers atop the quarterdeck of the _RFK Slava_ alongside Lukas, Mathias, Berwald, and Tino.

"Iona!" Arthur yelled, his sword slicing through a trio of Russian soldiers coming at him.

"_Whit? A'm a bawherr stowed richt noo_!" Iona yelled back, sending a number of Latvian sailors flying backwards.

"Repeat that?" the younger Kirkland called. He hit a particularly annoying Ukrainian in the gut with a flash of green light, knocking the man unconscious.

"I'm a little busy, you fool!" Iona shot a Bulgarian soldier in the leg over Mircea's shoulder.

"Well un-busy yourself!"

"Excuse me?"

"Marry me and Amelia," Arthur barked, grabbing Amelia's hand and swinging her around to knock down some more Russians.

"_Urr ye absolutely fuckin' oot o` yer mynd? We're in th' middle o' a battle, 'ere!_" Iona roared."_Mircea, keep edgy!_" Mircea responded immediately, shooting a large ball of wicked blue fire at a couple of Belarusians.

"You promised!" Amelia yelled, pouting at Iona.

"_Whit dinnae_"—Iona kneed one man in the groin —"_ye twa git_"— she ducked under Mircea's arm and shot an Estonian admiral in the chest —"_aboot_"— she pinned a handful of men to the mast with wicked-looking daggers —"_'we're in th' middle_"— she pushed a man down the ladder and onto the poop deck —"_ o' a ragin` battle'?_"

"We don't care! It's now or never!" Arthur said, fixing his sister with a determined look.

"_A'richt, a'richt! Ah'll dae it!_" Iona looked over her shoulder at Mircea.

_I can't protect them and you at the same time. I'll have to cover them. Will you be able to shield yourself? _she thought, catching Mircea's eye.

_Da, draga mea. Do what you need to. I can handle this._

Iona nodded and inhaled deeply, turning back to face her brother and Amelia.

"_Dearly beloved, we gather 'ere th'day_" — a stray ice spell whizzed over her head as she looked down on the couple — "_tae nae git bloody killed—and tae witness th' joining o' thae twa ower unfortunate souls_" — Arthur glared at Iona as she shot a brutish lump of a man coming at her from the side — "_in mairriage."_

Arthur and Amelia turned to face each other, hands clasped together, though they had to separate momentarily to fight off some Lithuanians.

"Amelia Florence Jones, do you take me to be your husband?" Arthur said, hitting a Russian square in the face with a bright ball of light without even taking his eyes off of his bride.

"I do!" Amelia chirped, shooting another Russian in the stomach over her shoulder.

"Wonderful!"

They turned away from each other, taking out a number of enemies with their respective weapons.

"_Amelia, Ah think he's waiting fur ye tae say yer vows_," Iona yelled, turning to make sure Mircea was still alive.

"Oh! Right!" Amelia cleared her throat. "Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland" — she ducked, barely escaping one Pole's bullet, only to have the would-be-assassin killed by Toris — "Do you take me to be your wife" — she punched a Romanian in the nose — "In sickness and in health" — she shot a Bulgarian in the shoulder — "Till death do us part?"

"I do!" Arthur replied.

"Watch out!" Lukas called from the quarter deck as a brilliantly white spell shot across the body of the ship, taking more than a few enemies with it. Arthur and Amelia jumped apart to let it through before taking each other's hands again and facing Iona.

"_Then by th' power vested in me by th' Almighty 'n' Ever-loving God," _— Iona bent backwards to avoid Tino's spray of bullets — "As captain o' _Th' Phoenix," _— she sent a wind and fire wheel spinning through the air like a boomerang — "_Dae pronounce ye guidman 'n' guidwife_." — she used the wheel, which had lodged itself in the mast, to pull herself above a pair of Hungarian mercenaries — "_Ye kin noo_" — Arthur and Amelia shot a Russian captain with a combination of magic and bullets — "_Ye kin noo_" — Iona elbowed a Latvian in the solar plexus before stabbing him with a dagger — "_Och, juist bloody kiss, dammit!_"

Arthur and his bride didn't need to be told twice. Just as Iona raised a powerful magic shield around them, their lips met, and it was as if time stopped. Arthur felt as though he could've stayed in that moment for eternity, but it was quickly broken by an otherworldly, blood-curdling scream. He and Amelia opened their eyes just in time to see Mircea fall to his knees as a Romanian soldier behind him holstered a still-smoking gun. Before anyone could even blink, the soldier, too, fell to the ground, his eyes vacant and lifeless from Iona's silent spell.

She was at Mircea's side faster than anyone could register her moving. She said nothing, but the look on her face spoke volumes. Arthur knew that look. It wasn't her 'Not another one' look. No, it was the look he'd seen as he had watched her heart breaking after she read the letter from the MoD, the look of complete and utter despair of someone who'd lost everything.

He watched helplessly as the life disappeared from Mircea's eyes and Iona crumpled into a heap next to her best friend. She made no sound, but the tears ran rapidly down her face.

"Ion—" Arthur started, only to be elbowed in the side by Amelia.

The battle continued to rage around them. Arthur watched Mathias get stabbed in the shoulder, while Daniel was shot twice in the stomach. Both of them had been distracted by Iona's scream, and Braginsky's men had taken the opportunity to do something. Even Antonio was sliced across the chest by Braginsky himself and Arthur felt his heart drop as he saw Sadik get shot five times in the chest before the offending soldier threw the Turk's body over the side of the ship.

"_Ye bastard_…" Iona growled. Arthur heard the rustling of her jacket, bringing his attention back to his sister as she stood up. "_Ye bastard!_" she howled, her voice layered with magic and fury. Arthur turned to look at his sister, and his heart fell through the floor.

Her eyes were glowing brilliantly, a vivid, wicked green that he'd never seen. Her hair, which had been tied back in a braid, swirled around her, a cloud of deep red. The aura surrounding her was dark, almost evil—pure fury and hatred and heartbreak—yet tinged with light—love and joy and warmth. She was, after Amelia, the most beautiful woman Arthur had ever seen, and she was also the most terrifying, dreadful creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

A humanoid shadow appeared at Iona's side; a tall and strongly built figure with a mop of messy red hair and smiling green eyes.

"W-w-what's going on, Artie?" Amelia whimpered, cowering against Arthur's side.

"Alistair…" Arthur whispered, looking at the red haired figure. The man smiled softly at him before grabbing Iona's hand.

"_A'm aye wi' ye, Iona_," the man said, fading.

"_Ye murdurred him!_" Iona shrieked, disappearing suddenly and reappearing in front of Braginsky seconds later.

She brandished her wind and fire wheels and plucked a few of the daggers from them before lunging at Braginsky with inhuman speed. The Russian general dodged the attack and managed to hit Iona across the face, sending her flying backwards. She got up quickly, eyes still glowing, and tried to stab the tall blond in the heart. Again, she was blocked and sent flying backwards by a punch to the gut. Braginsky took Iona's momentary discombobulation to stab her in the side, missing her internal organs by an inch.

Suddenly, Iona stood up, faced the general, and grinned wickedly, her eyes glowing even brighter so that they were almost white.

"_Mi a 'guidhe bàs oirbh_," she hissed.

Braginsky was lifted into the air by an invisible hand as he struggled for breath, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his limbs shaking uncontrollably.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Arthur gasped.

"What? What is it?" Amelia cried.

"She's going to use one of the ancient spells," Arthur wheezed.

"One of the whats?"

"One of the ancient spells. A set of spells so old, some say that they were created when the first human language was created," Arthur said. "Some of them are rather quite nice and peaceful, but most of them, like the one my sister seems to be using, are gruesome, hateful, and lethal. They're considered by many in the magical community to be a very old form of dark magic and they're absolutely forbidden except in special cases since many of them require human sacrifice or do awful, terrible things to both victim and caster. If Iona goes through with this spell, there's no telling who she will be when she's done."

"How do you know that's what she's doing?"

"Because when a sorcerer or sorceress learns magic, we are taught about the changes in the environment that occur when someone uses one of these spells. Believe me, I know."

He wasn't lying or exaggerating. He truly knew the feeling of having the air sucked out of his lungs and having the blood in his veins literally boiling and freezing all at once all too well. She wasn't just going to use one of the ancient spells, she was planning to use the most ancient of the ancient spells, and it was not going to be a pretty sight. He had to do something.

"Iona! You need to calm down," he cried, running as fast as he could over to his sister.

"_Mircea 'n' Alistair 'n' Gilbert ur a' deid fur o' him! How come urr ye protecting him?_"

"I'm not protecting him, but killing him yourself isn't the answer, Iona! Leave him to the authorities. If you kill him with this spell, you know that I'll have to kill you. Those are the laws of magic. I know you saw Alistair too. Is this what he would've wanted? Iona, this could destroy your soul!"

"Arthur, stay back!" Jack called, but Arthur ignored him.

"Iona, I know you're hurting. I know this is difficult, but you must calm down. Think about what you're about to do. Is this what Alistair would've wanted? Is this what Mircea would want?" Arthur said, slowly approaching his sister, his hand reaching for hers.

Iona narrowed her eyes, looking from her brother to Braginsky and then back at her brother.

"They wouldn't want you to sacrifice even a shred of your soul just to get revenge. Killing Braginsky won't do any good, and it certainly won't bring Mircea back. You need to save your magic. There's still a chance we can save him," Arthur said calmly, finally taking hold of Iona's hand. The wind created by her magic gradually died down, and the aura around her disappeared, and finally, Iona collapsed in her brother's arms, sobs wracking her frame. Arthur held her there, stroking her wild mane of crimson curls and whispering assurances to her that Mircea would be okay.

At the same time, Antonio, Francis, and Abel used the opportunity to subdue Braginsky, and Arthur created a pair of magical handcuffs to keep the Russian commander incapacitated after a short struggle.

"Let it be known that on this day, at this moment, the combined forces of the crew of the sky pirate ship _The Phoenix_ and the United European Air Force put an end to the threat posed to the European continent and all of its people by the Russian Federation," Arthur bellowed, picking his sister up and carrying her across the gangplank to _The Phoenix_. Berwald followed close behind with Mircea's lifeless body. Once back on board their ship, Iona and Mircea were placed in the infirmary until the remaining two magicians could figure out how to pull off a revival spell. Iona had used the last of her remaining energy to preserve Mircea's body before passing out.

"You do realise just how much magic this requires, right?" Lukas said gravely. They'd been debating whether to use the old Scottish or the Norse revival spell for the past two hours since boarding _The Phoenix._

"Yes, I do, but my sister's been through enough in her life and—"

"He's just her friend, right? I mean, I understand that she's been through a lot and that if we can save her one more heartbreak that's great, but at what cost to us?"

"He's not 'just her friend,' Lukas. Don't be so heartless. Her mind has been screaming, wailing, crying so loudly that it's giving me a headache. They might not have told any of us, but I think Mircea means much, much more to my sister than just friends. Hell, I'd say it's more than best friends. I'm pretty sure she loves him, and I've no doubt he loves her back. That's why we have to do this for her—for them both," Arthur sighed.

"Love comes and goes, I'm sorry to say. Look, we've all had to deal with death. I nearly lost my best friend today, too, remember? Sadik and Feliks are dead and we definitely don't have the magic to bring both of them back along with Mircea; Daniel, Toris, Abel, and Yao need to be healed ASAP, and basically everyone on this ship needs some sort of magical attention. Is this really worth it? Is it fair for us to bring back Mircea and not bring back the other two?"

"Mircea is a special case. We can't bring back people if we don't have their bodies, and both Sadik and Feliks were thrown from the _Slava_. There's no hope for them, but we have Mircea's body, so there's a chance. Shouldn't we take it?"

"You're not giving up on this, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Plus, you said that you could still sense Mircea's soul, yes?"

"Yes. He's still with us, we just need to guide him back to his body. As such, I think the Scottish spell will be the most effective," Lukas said, nodding in understanding. "Very well, then. You draw the circle; I'll draw the sigils." He thought for a moment. "Francis, you go wake up Iona, and tell Berwald to be ready to bring Mircea up to the centre of the top deck within the next hour. It should be clear by now since all of the enemy soldiers from the _Slava_ have been apprehended and placed under arrest in the Russian Parliament building, and there'll still be more than enough blood on the deck for our purposes."

Francis nodded and disappeared down the hall.

_**The Phoenix**_**—April 2nd, 1890—04:00**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"Iona_, il est temps de se réveiller,_" Francis said gently. Iona opened one jade-coloured eye, frowned, and rolled over onto her side, away from the Frenchman.

"No," she mumbled, sounding empty and miserable.

"But they've figured it out. They just need you to lead it. Come on, Iona. Berwald's coming to get Mircea, and you need to get yourself ready."

Iona turned back over, both eyes now open, and stared at Francis, her eyes dull and red from crying.

"Where's Stefan? Does he know?" she asked, slowly sitting up. She avoided looking over at Mircea's body, afraid that she'd dissolve into a puddle of tears again.

"_Non_. He, Emil, and the Vargas girls are now on Lucius's ship. None of us have had the heart to tell them."

"Good."

Iona finally managed to stand up, though she had to lean on Francis for support. She wasn't entirely sure why she felt so weak. Sure, she'd sustained injuries in the battle, but nothing horribly major. She didn't remember much about what had happened after Mircea had been shot up until her brother laid her down on a bed in the infirmary, and no one would really tell her much either.

"Do you need help getting to your quarters?"

"No, I don't think I d—" she began, only to lose her balance and fall against Francis.

"I've got you, _ma ch__ère._Don't worry," the Frenchman soothed, draping one of Iona's arms over his shoulders and wrapping his arm around her waist.

Francis guided Iona up the stairs to the starboard living quarters and to her room.

Stepping into the bedroom, Iona felt like someone was stabbing her repeatedly in the chest. Mircea's side of the bed was still unmade, and his red military coat was folded on the chair in the corner.

"Here, you need to sit down," Francis said, helping her over to the chair, pausing only to move the coat.

"He's gone," Iona said vacantly. She had the eyes of a corpse; there was no light in them, no life.

"Not for long, _ne te inquiète pas_. You just need to change out of those rags and into a nice dress or a skirt, and eat a little something, and then you and Arthur and Lukas are going to bring him back," Francis said. He looked at the folded coat in Iona's lap, noticing how pale and sick she was. She really and truly looked like a dead woman, her trousers and jacket completely in tatters and her blouse stained with blood.

"I don't think I can stand up again. Not right now, at least," she croaked, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying and from stress.

"I need to go check on the preparations for bringing Stefan, Emil, and the Vargas girls back once all of this is done, but I can go get Amelia. Would that be okay, Iona?"

Iona nodded almost imperceptibly, refusing to meet Francis's gaze as she fiddled with the buttons on Mircea's coat.

"Wait," Iona called. Francis's hand hovered over the doorknob.

"_Oui_?"

"I-I think I'd like to bathe first and get all of this blood off of me," Iona whispered, barely audible.

"Then I'll get one started on my way to the bridge."

Iona gave Francis the tiniest of smiles.

Francis left the room, shutting the door behind him, as Iona curled up in the chair, burying her nose in the wool of the deep red coat and listening to the jangling of the various medals that adorned it.

Iona listened for the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and counted six minutes—the exact amount of time it took for the water to warm up—before undressing and grabbing her robe.

The short walk to the bathroom was painful and laborious, and Iona had to stop and lean against the wall a number of times to catch her breath.

She removed her robe as quickly as she could and stepped into the bathtub, letting the warmth of the water seep into her bones and embrace her like the arms of an old friend.

She wanted nothing more than to simply sink into the bathtub and stay there. A part of her envied Gilbert— death seemed so peaceful, so painless. She could be with Alistair and Mircea again, and all she would have to do was sink into the water and just never resurface. It could all be over in a matter of minutes.

But no. She had to keep going, she had to bring Mircea back. There was still hope for him. Unlike Gilbert, Mircea had not wanted to die.

_~A Few Hours Previous~_

_Iona heard the bullet whistle behind her and waited for the pain to come. Instead, she was greeted with the sound of the bullet piercing flesh that was not her own, and her heart stopped for an instant. _

_Mircea! her mind screamed._

_Draga mea…I don't want to die…Ion-a_

_And then he went silent._

She had to pull herself together for Mircea. She couldn't lose him.

Iona pulled herself up and started washing the dried blood off of her skin and out of her hair, working argan oil through her tangled curls.

When she felt sufficiently clean, Iona drained the tub and wrapped herself in the soft silk of her robe and making her way back to the bedroom, again having to stop for breath frequently.

Once back in the safety of her room, Iona crossed over to Mircea's chair, his coat still sitting there. She curled up beneath the red wool and sobbed silently.

Eventually, she collected herself enough get up and ring the bell next to the door, signalling that she was ready for Amelia to come and help her get ready for the spell.

**Amelia Jones Mackenzie-Kirkland**

A few minutes later, the door opened and Amelia stepped inside. She said nothing as she walked over to the closet and started looking through various dresses, skirts, trousers, and blouses.

"Wait," Iona said, making Amelia halt her rummaging. "That skirt, the blue one."

Amelia pulled out the skirt in question and held it up for Iona to see. "This one?"

"Yes, that one and a clean blouse."

"What about a corset and a jacket?"

"I-I can get t-those myself."

Amelia looked at her sister-in-law sceptically, but said nothing, watching as the Scotswoman slowly got up and crossed over to the closet.

After struggling for a few minutes to keep her balance while searching through her clothing. Eventually, she pulled out a royal blue corset with delicate gold embroidery up the front panel, and a matching cropped military-style jacket. They matched the colour of the skirt almost perfectly.

"Would-would you mind h-helping me g-get d-dressed?" Iona asked shakily, beginning to pull off her dressing gown. Amelia draped the skirt and blouse across the bed and helped Iona remove the robe.

She averted her eyes as Iona sat on the bed and dried off her shoulders.

"Can you hand me a fresh shift and a clean pair of stockings? They're in the top drawer of the dresser in the corner."

Amelia nodded and got a clean cotton shift and stockings, giving it to Iona.

A few moments and some swearing in Scottish Gaelic later, Iona tapped Amelia on the shoulder.

Iona sat on the edge of the bed in the shift and blouse, pulling on the stockings.

"I think I can get the skirt on by myself," Iona said, standing up. She certainly seemed a little stronger, but she was still pale as a ghost and her eyes still looked like the eyes of someone who'd been completely broken.

Amelia watched as her sister-in-law pulled on the blue skirt, carefully tucking in the blouse before buttoning the top of the skirt.

"Could you help me with the corset?"

The blonde made quick work of the gold laces, making sure not to tie them too tightly. She also noted how Iona had straightened her posture and regained a fair bit of colour in just the ten minutes since Amelia had entered the room.

"All done," Amelia said, patting Iona on the back.

"Thank you. I do believe I can do my own makeup and hair," Iona said. She sat down at her vanity and started applying powder to her face.

"Let me do your hair, sis. I can do a killer braided bun," Amelia said, not even waiting for Iona's answer as she picked up the Scotswoman's hairbrush.

Eleven minutes later, Amelia stood back to admire her handiwork while Iona quickly laced her boots and double-checked her reflection in the mirror.

"Thank you, Amelia. You've been a big help," Iona said. She offered a small smile and stood up.

"Hon, it's no big deal. You've been through a lot, and it's the least I could do after what you did for me and Artie."

Iona nodded and walked over to the doorway.

"I do believe I'm going to go get myself some food before the spell. Magic takes a lot of energy," she said softly.

"Yeah, I gotta go make sure Arthur's prepared. Will you be all right getting to the galley by yourself?"

"Yes, thank you. Go take care of my brother."

_**The Phoenix**_**—April 2nd, 1890—06:30**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

The entire ship was silent but for the humming of the engines and the occasional sound of footsteps.

Iona appreciated the quiet. She wasn't quite sure that she wanted to face the rest of the crew just yet.

The galley was empty, but someone had been kind enough to leave some bread and soup along with a mug of water and a sachet of tea leaves. Iona smiled softly at the food and set about preparing it, choosing to heat it up on the stove rather than with magic.

"_Seinn mi òran a ghalad a tha air falbh/Abair, dh'fhaodadh gum bi mi a ghalad?/Chridheil anama a sheòl i air latha/Thar na mara dhan Eilean Sgitheanach/A bha am Muile astem, Ruma air a 'phort,/Eigg air an starboard bogha:/Gloir òigridh glowed ann an anam:/Càite bheil sin glòir a-nis?_" she sang gently, a bitter edge in her voice.

She didn't use _Gàidhlig_ very often, but at the moment, it felt comforting to speak in the ancient tongue, like saying the name of an old friend for the first time in years.

Sitting alone in the galley, Iona took stock of all of the things she had to be thankful for. Yes, Mircea had been killed, but they were about to bring him back. They'd managed to defeat the Russian Federation and help save Europe, and all of them were being granted a second chance by the governments of Europe, but at the cost of now four of their crew members. Daniel and Toris had not pulled through, despite Arthur and Lukas trying to heal their wounds, and Iona felt those losses deeply. The entire crew was her family now, but at least the surviving members were getting a second chance. She felt a small sense of hope in her chest at the thought of being able to start over and re-join society. She just needed to get through the next two days to make sure that the spell held, and even before that, she needed to get through the next two hours of actually working the ancient magic.

She'd received word that they would be using the ancient Scottish spell rather than the Norse, meaning that Iona would be leading everything. The thought terrified her, yet she knew it was something she had to do. Mircea was her…person, and it was only right that she be the one to really bring him back.

Iona finished the tea and soup, washed her dishes, and prepared to go up to the top deck.

"_Tha e a-nis no gu bràth, Eilean Ì_," she sighed.

_**The Phoenix**_** — April 2nd, 1890 — 07:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

Arthur paced the deck nervously as he waited for Iona to appear. He hadn't seen his sister since he'd dropped her off in the infirmary, and now he was forcing her to take the lead on arguably one of the strongest, most draining spells in existence. Yes, the Scottish revival spell was the most effective in the situation, but of the two choices he and Lukas had considered, it was also incredibly powerful and had a much smaller margin of error. However, Iona was the only one who spoke Scottish Gaelic, and Arthur knew that if anybody could pull off such an impressive feat, it was Iona.

"Is everything ready?" a soft voice said from the stairwell. Arthur snapped out of his reverie and turned around.

Iona stood there, a beautiful picture of sadness and determination.

"Y-yes. Everything's ready now that you're here," Arthur stammered, unsure of how to act around his sister.

"It's alright, Artie-lad. You can treat me like a normal human being," she teased gently, walking over to her brother.

She was still pale and tired-looking, but Arthur noted how much stronger Iona seemed compared to a few hours previous.

"So, shall we get started?" Lukas said.

"Yes, we should," Iona answered.


	23. Chapter 23: En Ma Fin

_**The Phoenix**_** — April 5th, 1890 — 23:56**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona was grateful that Arthur and Lukas had already drawn out the sigils for the spell. She wasn't sure she had quite that much energy, especially since she was going to have to lead the spell.

The three sorcerers positioned themselves at each point on the triangle that had been drawn around Mircea's body.

"You have your toll in mind, Iona?" Arthur said.

"Aye, I do. It will be enough for both of us," Iona replied.

"Very well then. Let's do this."

Lukas and Arthur began to chant in Scottish Gaelic, asking for the gates between life and death to be opened.

Iona joined in, her voice louder than the other two. All three were glowing, their eyes lit up like candles.

This went on for what felt like forever.

Suddenly, Iona felt a warmth envelope her and a bright light surrounded her body, obscuring her brother and Lukas and the rest of the world.

Just like that, the light faded and Iona found herself in a large, dark, grandly-decorated room lit by sconces on the walls and candelabras throughout. Lying on the floor a few feet in front of her was Mircea's body, and a few feet from him was a richly-carved throne.

"Where am I?" she wondered aloud. "And how did I get here?"

"You don't recognise this place?" a deep voice behind her said.

Iona wheeled around and found herself face-to-face with a tall man with stranage green-blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. He was dressed in a set of long black robes decorated with gold embroidery. Shge had to admit, there was something familiar about him and the room, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Who are you?" she said, stepping away from the man.

"I think you know the answers to all of your questions, my dear child. You and I have met many times over the years, Iona," the man said.

Iona stared at him for a few moments as she processed his words.

"_Mise_ _marbh_?" she finally said, eyes widening.

The man chuckled. "No, my dear. You're very much alive, but good guess."

"T-then why am I here?"

"You tell me. You're the one who cast the spell that brought you and your friend — well, your friend's body, at least — here. I'm assuming, though, that it's because you've come to ask for his soul, yes?"

"_Tha e dha-rìribh a tha thu_."

"Yes, my child. I'm really me, though you probably know me in other forms by other names."

Iona stood speechless, unable to form a coherent thought.

"You know, you and the little Romanian boy always were two of my favourite students."

"Mircea was your student?"

"Every person with magical abilities is my student, Iona. I didn't teach just you, my child. I taught all of your brothers, Mircea, you name it. Like I said, you and I have met many times beyond just that year in Scotland following Alastair's death."

"I'm so confused. Why don't I recognise you?"

"I can take any form I want."

"I'm still so confused."

"I don't doubt that."

"It doesn't matter. I want Mircea's soul returned to him."

"That's all you want?" the man said. "I'm honestly surprised. I expected you to ask for more, considering the way you plan to pay the toll."

"I just want my best friend back. Nothing else mat—"

"Not even Alastair?

Iona froze.

"_Ye cannae be serious_," she gasped.

"Oh, but I'm very serious, my child," the man said kindly. "Your payment is more than enough for the two of you."

"How do I know this isn't a trick? How do I know that you won't take my soul as payment for Alastair's?"

"Why would I do that? I've already told you that your toll is more than sufficient for yourself, Mircea, and another."

"I want proof. Let me see Alastair," Iona said, her voice low and cautious.

The man chuckled in a way that reminded Iona of her grandfather and how he would smile and chuckle at her and Alastair when they were little and pestered him until he told them all of his old adventure stories.

He waved his hand and a cloud of white smoke appeared beside him.

"Alastair, I do believe you have a visitor," he said.

A tall figure with broad shoulders and a lean build materialised inside the cloud. Iona held her breath, watching and waiting as the figure stepped out of the cloud.

"Alastair?" she whispered.

"Why're you here, Iona?" Alastair said, walking toward his sister with a puzzled look. He stopped just in front of her and the twins stared at each other for a few seconds.

"I came to bring back Mircea," Iona finally said in a soft, almost sheepish voice.

"Then why am I here?" Alastair said.

"He said — I mean — I can bring you back, too, Alastair."

"How? Iona, it's been five years. I know you and your friends are powerful — I've been watching over you, so I do know — but nobody has that much power to not only bring back two souls, but to also recompose a body that's been dead for that long."

"Not with the price traditionally paid, no, but I'm not paying the traditional price."

"Iona…what are you planning?"

"Don't ask me questions the answers to which you won't like, Alastair."

"Iona, just get Mircea and leave me."

Iona nodded, though she wasn't quite sure that she wanted to obey.

"Give me Mircea's soul," she said, turning to the thin man.

The man waved his hand again, and light surrounded Mircea's body. The Romanian stirred and Iona ran over to his side.

"Mircea? _A bheil e dha-rìribh a tha thu?_" she gasped, taking Mircea's hand.

Mircea opened his eyes and smiled, weakly at first and then broadly.

"_Draga mea_," he croaked, reaching up with his other hand and cupping Iona's cheek.

"Let's go home," Iona said, looking at Alastair. "All three of us."

She helped Mircea up and began leading him to the door.

"Alastair, aren't you coming?" she asked.

"No, Sister-mine. I can't," Alastair said sadly.

"Why not?" Iona said. Suddenly, the room shook and the edges of the door started getting fuzzy.

"What's going on?" Mircea said, yanking his hand off the doorknob.

"The portal's closing," the thin man said. "Better get going if you'd like to leave."

"You didn't tell me there was a time limit!" Iona yelled, glaring at the man.

"I thought you knew," the man said.

"Iona, go now. You and Mircea need to leave," Alastair called.

"Not without you! I know I have the power to bring you back, too, and the price — it'll pay for you," Iona said.

"Iona, maybe we should listen to him," Mircea said.

Iona looked at her boyfriend with sad eyes.

"Go, Mircea. The others are waiting for you."

"What? No! I'm not leaving you here! Don't be—"

Iona didn't give him a chance to finish. She yanked the door open and pushed him through before turning back toward the thin man and her brother.

"Alastair, I've already lost you twice. I'm not losing you again," she said, running over to Alastair.

"You have to, Sister-mine. I don't belong in the world of the living anymore. You do. Go and live your life. Isn't that what Gilbert told you to do? I'm sorry," Alastair said, putting his hands on Iona's shoulders and fixing her with a firm look.

"Ali, I've been so lost without you. I don't want to have to face it all again, knowing I could've brought you back."

"Iona, you have to. Go."

"But—"

"I love you, Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie. You are my twin sister, my other half, but your place is with Arthur and the twins and Dylan and Mircea and the rest of the living. I will always be with you. Now go."

Iona stood frozen for a few moments before suddenly being thrown off balance by the room shaking again. She looked toward the door, which was now little more than the doorknob.

"Time's up. Now I get both twins," the thin man taunted.

"No!" Iona wailed, her eyes glowing.

_**The Phoenix **_**— April 6th, 1890 — 01:37**

**Alexandru Mircea B****ălan**

Mircea's eyes flew open and he gasped for air.

"Mircea! Is that you?" Arthur bellowed, rushing over to the Romanian. "Where's Iona?"

"She-she-she's still over there," Mircea whimpered. "He has her."

"Who? Who has her, Mircea? What happened?" Lukas inquired calmly.

"Death. Death has her. He tricked her into staying too long. She didn't want to leave Alastair."

"Wait, you saw Alastair?" Arthur said.

"Yeah. He was there when I woke up and Iona was trying to convince him to come back with us and the room started shaking and the door started disappearing and then she pushed me through and we need to reopen the portal."

Arthur and Lukas looked at each other with worried faces.

"Mircea, we can't. It took enough power to open it the first time, and that was with Iona here. I'm sorry," Lukas finally said.

"No…no! She went over there to save me, and now, now she's gone," Mircea said, tears welling up in his crimson eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Arthur. It's all my fault. I loved her and now she's gone and I'm so sorry."

The Romanian buried his face in his hands as sobs shook his body.

All three men were silent, each registering the situation in his own way. They sat there in varying states of mourning for what seemed like an eternity.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared over them, growing more and more brilliant as it shot off sparks of colour in every direction.

"What the—?" Arthur mumbled.

Iona appeared before them in a second flash of light, her eyes glowing vivid white and her hair flying around her head in tendrils. Power radiated off of her like the heat of the sun, and Mircea found himself covering his eyes to keep from going blind.

"Iona!" he cried as the light died down and Iona's eyes stopped glowing. Mircea jumped up and flew to the Scotswoman's side, lifting his girlfriend up off the ground and twirling her around in the air.

Iona smiled gently as Mircea placed her back on the ground. "I'm back," she said, standing up on her toes to kiss Mircea before burying her face in his chest.

Arthur and Lukas watched from a few feet away, both smiling at the reunion of the two lovers.

"Told you, Lukas. Much more than friends," Arthur quipped.

"Hmph. No need to rub it in," Lukas huffed. "Shouldn't you be going over there and greeting her too? She is your sister after all."

"Yes, but I always knew she'd come back," Arthur sniffed.

"Liar."

After a few minutes, Arthur cleared his throat loudly. "Not to be a bother and interrupt this sweet moment, but perhaps we should all move inside where it's warm. Both of you should have Tino check you out in the infirmary, just to be sure that everything's okay."

Iona jumped out of Mircea's arms like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She stared at the ground as she smoothed her dress.

"No need to be embarrassed, Iona," Arthur laughed.

"I'm not embarrassed," Iona objected. She grabbed Mircea's hand. "Will the two of you clean this place up?"

"But of course."

Lukas glowered. "I never agreed to—"

Arthur elbowed him in the side. "They really need to go get looked at. I think Iona's still looking a little translucent," the Englishman said.

Lukas sighed and waved his hand. "Fine, yes, we'll clean up."

Arthur ushered Iona and Mircea to the top of the stairs.

"You'd think he thought we didn't know how to get downstairs," Mircea snorted, amused by Arthur's strange behaviour.

"He's just overprotective. Can't really blame him, can you?" Iona shrugged. She followed Mircea down to the lowest level of the ship.

Mircea found himself suddenly more aware of the world around him. Everything was sharper. He could smell the oak and cedar used to build the ship. The colours of various paintings and decorations along the corridor jumped out at him in a rainbow of brilliant blues and reds and greens. Most of all, he was suddenly, painfully aware of how much distance was between him and Iona. A foot was now a mile, and he didn't like it.

Instinctively, Mircea reached back a hand and found Iona's, pulling her up next to him as they walked.

"Is everything okay?" Iona asked.

"Other than the fact that you just brought me back from the dead and nearly got trapped by Death himself in the process?"

"Fair enough. It was a silly question."

Mircea smiled and shook his head as he gripped Iona's hand tighter. They walked another few feet before Iona stopped, yanking Mircea back.

"But really, Mir: are you okay? I know that what you've been through has been incredibly difficult and no one's expecting you to be okay just like that," the Scotswoman said, looking Mircea in the eyes with a concerned gaze.

Mircea stared back at her for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. He really didn't know how he was actually feeling. Everything had happened in a blur or in complete darkness. One second, he'd felt incredible pain. The next minute, it had all been black and numbness. Then, after that, he'd actually met Alastair and been pushed through the door back into the land of the living and nearly lost Iona.

"I-I-I just don't know, Iona. I'm—"

"Don't you dare apologise, Alexandru Mircea Bălan," Iona said, reaching up and holding Mircea's face in her hands so that he was looking directly into her large green eyes. "You have nothing to apologise for. Whatever it is, however you're feeling, Mircea, I want to be a part of it. _Mise leatsa, agus tha thu 'mhèinn_."

Mircea grinned widely.

"I don't know what it is that you just said, Iona, but I'm pretty sure it just made me love you even more," he laughed, pulling her in for a kiss.

"Are you two done yet? Arthur told me to expect you guys, but come on, I've got other stuff to do," Tino sighed, startling the lovers.

Iona and Mircea laughed and followed the Finnish man into the infirmary, hand in hand.

It wasn't until they reached the spacious sick bay that Iona fainted, suddenly very weak and very tired.

"Iona!" Mircea cried, before he too passed out.

_**The Phoenix **_**— April 8th, 1890 — 15:00**

**Alexandru Mircea B****ă****lan**

Mircea couldn't remember what he'd dreamt about. That didn't really bother him, but it did make him question if he'd even been asleep at all. He also wasn't completely certain about where he was, though he imagined from the smell that he was in the sick bay.

He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. He'd confirmed that he was, in fact, in the sick bay, but he couldn't quite figure out why. Even worse, while the sick bay was always kept fairly dim, he hadn't been entirely prepared for how much brighter the room would be than the backs of his eyelids. His pupils dilated too quickly and he felt like his eyes were going to come out of his skull.

He tried again, this time taking things more slowly.

The room was empty, save for one other person in the bed next to his. He saw their form from the corner of his eye, but didn't think much of it.

After a few more moments of trying to remember why he was in the sick bay, Mircea decided to sit up. He regretted this decision even more than he had regretted opening his eyes not two minutes previous.

Pain erupted in his entire abdominal area, like fire burning him from the inside-out.

_At least I know I'm alive_, he thought to himself, trying to get comfortable in a more upright position. When the pain finally subsided enough that Mircea could think clearly, he took another glance around the room. This time, he turned his full head to look at the other person, and everything came rushing back to him.

Iona lay motionless, her chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly, so that Mircea had to do a double take to make sure she actually was breathing.

He'd been dead. Iona had risked everything to save him. They'd both ended up in the sick bay — though he wasn't entirely surprised by that part. Now he'd just woken up and the woman he loved seemed to be barely breathing, still unconscious. Suddenly, Mircea felt panic rising in his chest and adrenaline pulsing in his veins.

It was enough to get him out of the bed and over to Iona before the pain became crippling again.

Mircea used the last of his strength to move Iona over slightly so he could lie down by her side.

He dreamt of her.

They danced in the middle of a grand ballroom. They said nothing, but chose instead to simply look at each other. Red eyes met green, and that was the only conversation they needed. He could feel the cool metal of a ring on the back of his neck, right where it sloped to begin the move toward his shoulder. He noticed her right hand clasped in his, her silver Claddagh ring gone.

Now they sat on top of a heather-covered hill overlooking a lake that stretched on for miles. The air was cold, but neither of them cared. She sat curled up in his lap, his chin resting on the top of her head as he breathed in the scent of vanilla, cinnamon, argan oil, and whiskey. He had his arms wrapped around her, cocooning them both in a large wool blanket. A small oil lamp glowed softly in the dim twilight, illuminating the remnants of a picnic. Again, they said nothing as they basked in the other's company. She fiddled with a thin gold band on his left hand.

Countless other scenes played in his head. He saw them sleeping peacefully in each other's arms, standing on the top deck of a ship while they watched the landscape below them, or eating dinner with friends and family. It all seemed so perfectly, wonderfully normal, and his heart ached for these scenes to become a reality.

He heard her call his name, her voice gentle and distant.

She called him again, her voice sounding closer. He felt himself being pulled out of the dream world.

"Mircea," she whispered, her breath tickling his face.

Mircea allowed himself to be dragged back to reality by the sound and the sensation.

He awoke to pale green eyes staring at him beneath knit auburn brows.

"Oh, thank God," Iona sighed, a look of relief spreading across her face. "I've been trying to wake you up for —"

Mircea didn't let her finish. He captured her lips in a kiss, which Iona happily returned.

"I was so scared," he whimpered when they broke apart. "I thought you were dead. You were barely breathing."

Iona chuckled. "Not anytime soon, my love. I'd say the two of us have spent enough time in Death's clutches for a while."

"I love you, Iona."

"I love you too."

_**The Phoenix **_**—April 15th, 1890 — 10:00**

**Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

Arthur paced about his office, hands clasped behind his back.

"No, I cannot let you see my sister, Commander. She's still very weak, I'm sorry," Arthur said calmly, looking at Commander Whittard with icy green eyes.

"It's been nine days. I thought you said you sorcerers healed faster than normal people," Commander Whittard sniffed politely.

"Yes, but you do realise that she had to use more magic than she's ever used in her entire life to transport herself and a body to the land of the dead and retrieve the soul belonging to said body, yes? And you are aware that she only escaped the land of the dead because she somehow found enough magic to reopen the gates, yes? On top of all that, in order to bring back a soul from the dead, a major price must be paid. Now, I don't actually know what she gave up to pay for Mister Bălan's soul, but I can guarantee you that it was very, very major. Any questions?" Arthur growled. Whittard had visited the ship every day for the past week, asking for Iona, and quite frankly, Arthur was getting tired of it.

"I realise that your sister has been through quite a bit, but surely she's recovered enough to speak with me briefly. As I've told you already, I bring a proposition from the rest of the United European Air Force that I believe she may be interested in," Whittard said, his voice slightly irritated. "However, I do need to speak with her before all of us leave to escort you and your ship back to Berlin."

Arthur thought for a few moments. He really didn't want to let Whittard see his sister, but he knew that the older man would not stop asking until Arthur relented.

"If I let you see her, will you leave us alone?"

"Yes."

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Fine. Follow me," he said.

He and Whittard made their way down to the sick bay, where Stefan and Mathias stood guard outside the doors.

"Tino's checking Mircea out right now," Mathias explained.

"Then why're you down here?" Arthur said.

"Lukas doesn't deal well with kids, so he asked me to watch Stefan."

"Mathias, can you keep it down out there?" Tino called from the other side of the door. Arthur took that as a sign to come in, and he and Whittard entered the infirmary.

"Commander Whittard!" Iona chirped, smiling kindly from her bed in the corner. She was still fairly pale, but had much more colour in her cheeks than nine days previous. "Arthur, you didn't tell me we were having guests."

"Iona, Commander Whittard would like to have a word with you," Arthur said through gritted teeth.

"By all means," Iona said, gesturing for the commander to sit on the small chair next to her bed.

"Well, I was hoping we could speak privately," Whittard said sheepishly, glancing at Tino and Mircea.

"_Kyllä kyllä. Ei huolia_," Tino said. "I just need to finish with Mircea."

"By all means," Whittard said.

"Arthur can stay, though," Iona added, waving her brother over to the chair on the other side of her bed.

"But —" Whittard began before shutting his mouth following a determined glare from the Scotswoman.

They waited in silence for Tino to clear Mircea. Finally, though, the Finnish man clapped Mircea on the back with a smile.

"You're all good to go!" he exclaimed.

Mircea grinned at Iona, his fangs gleaming in the low light. Whittard couldn't help but shudder.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay as well?" the Romanian asked, looking at his girlfriend with genuine concern.

Iona smiled as she shook her head. "No, Stefan's waiting for you outside. I've gotten to spend the past nine days with you, my love. Go. I'll be fine," she chuckled. "Plus, Arthur's here."

Mircea sighed, but did as Iona had asked.

Once everyone had cleared out of the infirmary, Commander Whittard turned his attention to the Kirkland-Mackenzie siblings. Arthur could tell the UEAF officer was unsure of how to begin the conversation.

"So," Arthur started, figuring it would be more practical than waiting for Whittard. "What did you want to talk with my sister about so urgently?"

Whittard shot Arthur a grateful look and cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, after much deliberation and a rather arduous voting process, we, the interim heads of the United European Air Force have decided to offer to you, Miss — er, Captain — Mackenzie, the position of Commander-General of the United European Air Force," the British officer said awkwardly.

Arthur and Iona exchanged looks of utter confusion.

"You're kidding, right? This has to be some sort of joke," Iona finally snorted, doing her best not to laugh in the Commander's face.

"Absolutely not. This is actually a very serious proposition, Captain Mackenzie. I can't even tell you what I've had to do to get General Vargas to completely agree to this. Of course, you'd have to be commissioned into the Royal Air Force first, then into the UEAF before we could actually name you Commander-General. You'd also have to go through a bit of training, conditioning, and general orientation. We have a very particular way of doing things —"

"Stop right there," Iona commanded. "If I accept this, I'm going to do things my way. I've been fighting, running, air-sailing, and a whole myriad of other things for the past five-odd years. That being said, I will not be going through any sort of training or conditioning, and I certainly won't be doing any 'orientation' process. I don't have to accept this, but I can see it in your eyes that — for some reason far beyond any sort of logic or reasoning I can think of — you want me to accept. So, I will take your offer under consideration. I will also make a list of terms and conditions I expect in return, regardless of whether I accept or not. Are we clear, Commander Whittard?"

Whittard could not help but stare at the redhead, stunned speechless by her boldness.

"Y-yes, of course," he finally managed to croak.

"I will have my answer for you and the rest of the UEAF in three days' time."

"Perfect. I look forward to hearing from you, Captain Mackenzie. Thank you for allowing me to come visit you."

Whittard smiled graciously at both siblings before excusing himself politely.

Once he was out of the room and Arthur was sure the commander was out of earshot, he turned to Iona.

"You aren't seriously going to consider his offer, are you?"

Iona looked at her brother sheepishly. "I am, actually."

Now it was Arthur's turn to look at his sister in shock.

"You cannot be serious," he huffed.

"But I am, Little Brother."

"Iona, I just got you back. What about me and Amelia and Dylan and the twins? We could be a family, all of us together."

"I know, Arthur. I know. That's why I said I'll consider it. I haven't committed to anything yet, but I am going to give this some thought. Just promise me that whatever I choose, you'll respect my decision."

"Of course, Iona. I promise."

They sat in silence for a while. Finally, Arthur stood up.

"I'm going to go check on the bridge, see if they need anything," he explained, smoothing his jacket. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Arthur. Go," Iona replied with a wave of her hand.

"Is there anything you need?"

Iona thought for a moment. "Give it an hour and then send Mircea down, would you?"

Arthur nodded and left.

"How is she?" Amelia asked, startling her husband.

"Amy, what're you doing down here? You haven't been waiting for me, have you?"

"Mathias told me you were with your sister. How is she?"

"Strong and stubborn as ever."

"What did that Whittard guy want with her?"

Arthur sighed heavily, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

"They're offering her the entire UEAF," he said bitterly.

"Come again?"

"They want her to become the permanent head of the United European Air Force."

"Jiminy Cricket! That's amazing!" Amelia exclaimed. She grinned from ear to ear until she saw the look on Arthur's face. He was frowning, his eyebrows knit together.

"Give me again/All that was then,/Give me the sun that shone./Give me the eyes,/Give me the soul,/Give me the lass that's gone," he murmured, remembering Iona's favourite poem. How fitting that it was about a young woman who had run away when that seemed to be the story of her entire life.

"Uhm, those are really pretty words, Arthur, but I'm still kinda lost," Amelia said, poking him.

"It's like she's leaving all over again, Amelia."

"You just said they offered it to her. Did she accept it or something?"

"No, but I can see it in her eyes that she will. I—"

"Then let her. If that's what she wants to do, let her do it."

Arthur stared at the American in shock.

"Wha-what? But what about me and my brothers? We get her back, only for her to be taken away by the UEAF?"

"She's more likely to stay in touch if you let her do what she wants to do. Arthur, you're drawn to independent women, and a lot of that is because of Iona. Let her be independent," Amelia stated frankly. She locked eyes with her husband, giving him a fierce look.

Arthur hung his head in defeat, knowing his wife was right.

He smiled sadly at her after a few moments.

"You're obnoxiously brilliant, my dear," he sighed, pulling Amelia in for a hug.

_**The Phoenix **_**—April 15th, 1890 — 11:30**

**Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"And here I thought I was done with this place," a voice laughed from the doorway. Iona looked over and smiled softly as Mircea walked over to her. She'd never really noticed just how tall he was, nor how broad-shouldered. He was still a string bean in comparison to somebody like Heracles or Berwald or Mathias, but he definitely wasn't an awkward adolescent anymore. Her heart jumped in her chest as he crossed the room.

"Don't rub it in," she chided. She took his hand as he sat down on the side of her bed.

"How was the meeting with Whittard?" Mircea asked.

"It was…interesting," Iona replied. She released his hand and hummed when he placed it on her cheek. Mircea kissed the top of her head.

"How so?"

"He asked me to become the head of the UEAF."

Mircea's hand dropped and he looked at Iona in disbelief.

"You're kidding, right?"

"That's exactly what I said."

"No, really. He actually asked you, a young, female, Scottish pirate captain, to be the head of the entire European air force?"

"Really, really."

"_Măiculiță_."

"What do you think?"

"Do you want to be the head of the UEAF?"

"Would you be mad if I said yes?" Iona asked sheepishly.

Mircea stayed silent for a moment, looking at some point on the opposite wall intently. He finally turned back to her, his red eyes sparkling as he flashed her a toothy grin.

"Would I be mad? Of course not! Iona, this is wonderful!" Mircea exclaimed, hugging her as tightly as he could without hurting her too much.

"Good, because I am going to accept, and I want you to be by my side the entire way."

"I can't tell if you're joking," Mircea said, pulling back to look at his girlfriend.

"What do you think, you big loser?" Iona teased. Mircea reached up and ruffled Iona's hair, a grin still plastered on his face.

"I would be honoured. Just wait until I tell Stefan about this! He's gonna be so excited and — "

"I'm not sure if Stefan will be able to, Mircea. He's too young and he should finish school," Iona said, suddenly stone-faced and serious.

Mircea froze.

"Of course Stefan will be able to join us, Iona. Why wouldn't he be?"

"Well, as I just said, he needs to finish school. He's only ten. There's also the matter of UEAF regulations; I highly doubt they'd be okay with me bringing a civilian minor on board. I'm already going to probably have to pull some strings to get them to allow you on board, regardless of my rank. But the main issue is that he's still just a kid. He deserves a childhood with kids his own age. I happen to know a number of boarding schools that would be perfect for him, though."

Mircea paused, and Iona could tell he was wrestling with the idea of sending his baby brother to boarding school while he was away with her.

"I promise you," she soothed, "it's what's best for Stefan."

"Yeah," Mircea sighed. "You're probably right."

They sat in silence for a long time until Iona drifted off to sleep, exhausted from excitement and lulled into drowsiness by Mircea mindlessly playing with her hair.

_**The Phoenix**_** — April 27th, 1890 — 15:00**

**Alexandru Mircea B****ălan**

He really needed to tell Iona the truth. He'd been putting it off for almost two weeks now. Two weeks since she'd been asked to become head of the UEAF. Two weeks since she'd invited him to join her and telling him that she'd already arranged for Stefan to attend school in London. Two weeks since he'd known that he couldn't accept her offer. He had to tell her.

"Uhm, Mircea?" Mathias said from behind him. Mircea jumped.

"Wha-huh? What is it?" Mircea replied, composing himself.

"Is everything okay?"

Mircea was genuinely surprised. Mathias was not dumb by any means, but he certainly tended to be oblivious.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Mircea said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Mircea, come on, you're not fooling anyone, and I'm not blind," Mathias said.

Mircea sighed and sat down on one of the couches next to a generous bay window.

"You know how Iona got asked to become the head of the UEAF?" he began, resting his elbows on his knees.

Mathias sat down across from the Romanian. "Yeah, it's totally great. She offered me a job as a helmsman on one of their South American ships."

"She wants me to join her, but that would mean leaving Stefan, and even though she arranged for him to attend a school in London, I just don't know if I'm comfortable doing that to him," Mircea said, running a hand through his hair.

"Whaddya mean?"

"He's been away from where he grew up for so long, but he spent a lot of time in Bucharest with Uncle Sadik after I joined Gilbert, and I think he wants to go back."

"So, if I understand correctly, you have to choose between the head of the United European Air Force and your kid brother?"

"Yes."

Mathias let out a long sigh, smiling as he shook his head. "Honestly, I would choose Stefan. I think he needs you more."

Mircea nodded. Mathias had confirmed what he was already thinking, and he knew it was a sign.

"I just don't know how to tell her, and that's my real problem."

"I don't think there is a way to tell her. Not before it's time for you to leave."

"She's going to hate me for the rest of her life," Mircea said, burying his face in his hands.

"I really doubt that. Instead, I think she'll know that eventually, you'll come back to her."

Mircea hoped that the Dane was right.

_**The Phoenix**_**, Berlin, Germany — April 29th, 1890 — 08:00**

**Alexandru Mircea B****ălan**

"Do you remember what my brothers' names are?" Iona asked, pulling on a cream-coloured silk blouse that revealed her shoulders. Mircea couldn't help but appreciate the way it contrasted with her pale skin.

"Da, I do," Mircea replied, watching as the Scotswoman tucked the blouse into her midnight navy skirt.

"And?"

"And what?"

"What are they? You're going to need to know them before we disembark — can you come help me with this damn corset? — and we're disembarking once I'm finished getting ready."

Mircea strode over to Iona's side of the room. He brushed aside her curtain of mahogany curls, revealing her neck. He placed a kiss at the top of her spine before taking the laces of her corset in his hands. Iona shuddered at the contact, clenching her skirt in her hands so hard that her knuckles turned white.

"Well, there's Dylan — his wife is named Ceridwen," Mircea said, kissing one shoulder, "and then the twins, Sean and Colin — their girlfriends are Molly and Eilish," he kissed the other shoulder, "and then, of course, there's Arthur and his new wife Amelia," he kissed the top of her neck right at the hairline.

"And what's the name of my family's estate?" she breathed through gritted teeth.

Mircea grinned wickedly, pleasantly surprised that she'd caught on to his game so quickly — or maybe it was her game and he was the one who'd caught on. He dropped the laces of the corset and began loosening them. In the back of his mind, something with green-grey eyes gave him a cat-like smile.

"Windhaven," Mircea said, removing the corset and turning Iona around to face him. She looked at him with an expression that burned like ice, and suddenly, Mircea felt the frozen fire blaze through every inch of his body. The skin beneath Iona's blouse was flushed, and, despite the cold air of the ship, burned through the soft silk.

"And why is it named Windhaven?" Iona purred as Mircea braced his hands on her hips. His mind went blank as he thought about what his next move would be. So many things he could do, so many different reactions he could get.

"Because," he finally said, undoing the buttons of her skirt and removing the garment swiftly, along with her blouse, "because," he teased, stepping back taking in the full sight of Iona in just her chemise, "because it was once a tiny cottage outside of London and it provided your great-great-great grandfather with shelter from a particularly nasty thunderstorm — he didn't mind the storm, but the wind was so bad, it destroyed the entire village with the exception of that one little cottage."

He flashed a smirk at Iona before closing the distance between them again. Iona shivered a little, and Mircea wasn't sure if it was from external cold or internal heat.

"What do my brothers do for a living?" she said, fixing him with that gaze again, as though his veins weren't already burning and freezing. She guided his hands back to her hips before placing her own hands on his chest. Every point of contact between them felt like it was on fire, and Mircea wondered how much longer he could restrain himself.

"Do we really have to bring your brothers into this any more?" Mircea growled, leaning in for a kiss. Iona stepped out of his reach, never breaking eye contact.

"What do my brothers do for a living?" she repeated, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked.

Mircea ran a hand through his tousled hair and stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around Iona like a vice.

"Arthur was a captain in the Royal Air Force, but he's basically retired the minute we step off this ship," he stated, pretending to be bored with their game. Iona smiled and kissed the top of his neck, just below his chin. Mircea felt his breath catch a little.

"Sean and Colin own a store in Dublin — and a successful one at that," he continued, earning him a kiss a little lower, right at his Adam's apple. "And Dylan is about to start law school."

Mircea didn't bother to wait for Iona to do anything more. He claimed her lips in a kiss and tightened his arms around her.

It was not a gentle kiss, to say the very least. Mircea's coat was lying in a rumpled heap on the floor before he even had a chance to process his girlfriend pushing the garment from his shoulders and down his arms without ever breaking their kiss. His shirt went next, along with his hat.

Mircea was determined to make the most of his time with Iona, burn every inch of her into his memory. He wanted to be able to call to mind the sound of her laugh or the various whines and whimpers she made when he kissed her in certain places or whispered certain things in her ear. He wanted all of her to take with him until he saw her again, until he could kiss her again and touch her again.

He thanked God they were the only two left on the ship, elected by the rest of the crew to stay with _The Phoenix_ until Iona's commissioning ceremony the next day. He couldn't contain himself any longer, not when his time with her was so very limited.

Mircea guided Iona over to the bed, pulling her on top of him. Her chemise was quickly discarded, leaving Iona naked from the waist up. She sat astride him like a queen, regal and fiery and untamed.

"_C'mere_," she purred, one hand on Mircea's shoulder to guide him up to a sitting position.

He let his lips hover above hers before suddenly ducking his head and placing his mouth on one breast, letting his tongue roam over the hard nipple, drawing circles around it, nipping and biting the soft flesh just to hear Iona whine. He grabbed the other breast with a hand, not even bothering to be gentle as he laid her down beneath him. He had long since learned that the only way to survive the wild creature that was his girlfriend was to let his own wildness emerge.

Hand still on Iona's breast, Mircea began trailing kisses down the Scotswoman's pale body. He went slowly, grinning wickedly when he felt Iona shift and squirm, her hisses and groans music to his ears.

"_Ah swear tae God Almighty, if ye dinnae stairt eating me oot wi`in th' neist thirty seconds, ah wull hurt ye,_" the Scotswoman growled, staring down at Mircea with eyes of frozen green fire. Mircea chuckled and complied with a grin, earning a hiss of pleasure from his girlfriend.

Iona's hands threaded themselves in Mircea's strawberry blond hair, pulling and twisting it to keep herself from crying out too loudly as Mircea's tongue worked magic on her body.

"_Noo, Mircea_," Iona gasped, digging her nails into Mircea's shoulders. "_Ah need ye richt noo_."

With unearthly speed, Mircea was above the redhead, fangs out and at her neck.

"I was wondering when you'd finally give the command," he breathed, placing a feather-light kiss on the warmth of her pulse point.

Without another word, Mircea slid into her, hissing as their bodies joined. He could feel a small trickle of blood running down his back from where Iona's nails had broken the skin of his shoulders. God, he loved this woman.

They took no time in setting a rhythm, moving as a single entity. They had been through so much together that they worked perfectly in sync with one another.

He gave her no warning as he picked up his pace and thrust into her harder.

"I want you to leave scars all down my back, if that's how you want to mark me," he growled before biting down on Iona's pulse, hard enough to leave two small needle pricks of blood on the ivory skin.

Iona raked her nails down his back as though sensing that this would be the last time for a while that they'd get to be together. Mircea understood the symbolism in her action. He was hers, and God help anyone else who tried to encroach. He glanced quickly in her eyes, and the wild creature stared back, claws out and ready to pounce. It nearly brought him to release right there.

"So close," Iona moaned, motivating Mircea to go even faster. He was right there with her, and within minutes, they shattered together at once.

Removing himself from her, Mircea rolled over and gathered Iona in his arms. He loved seeing this side of her. He loved the feel of her body against his own, the intermingling of their scents and breaths, the symphony of cries and moans and growls they created together. Even more than that, though, he loved the moments afterwards when they tried desperately to catch their breath, basking in each other's warmth. Quite simply, he loved her, mind, body, heart, and soul.

"_Te iubesc mai mult decât orice, draga mea_," he whispered in her ear.

"I love you too, Mircea," Iona murmured.

**London City Aerodrome, London, England — April 30th, 1890 — 07:00**

**Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

The first thing Iona noticed was how cold the bed was.

Mircea's side of the room was completely empty, devoid of any signs of her Romanian. Even his side of the bed was neatly made.

Iona could immediately tell that something was not right. She leapt out of bed and ran out into the empty hallway. It was entirely too silent. She was the only one left on the ship.

She dressed quickly, not even caring to do her hair or makeup. All of her clothing had already been moved to Windhaven, along with the whole of the contents of her office, so she carried only a small purse with a wallet and her UEAF identity card. She hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for her family's estate.

Iona didn't even see the preparations being made for her commissioning ceremony, nor did she even care that today was her first official day as head of the UEAF. Mircea was missing and that was all that mattered.

She arrived at the sprawling estate on the outskirts of London twenty minutes later. She practically threw the money at the driver and told him to keep the change before bolting through the front doors into the generous foyer.

Arthur and Amelia were sitting in the adjacent dining room enjoying breakfast, and both looked absolutely startled when the young Scotswoman came barrelling into the house.

"Good Lord, Iona!" Arthur cried as he stood up. "What in the world is this all about?"

"ArthurIcantfindMirceaisStefanstillherewithyou," Iona wheezed, grabbing her brother by the shoulders.

"What now? I didn't catch a word you just said. Here, have a seat and say that again slowly," Arthur said, guiding Iona over to a chair at the dining table.

Iona took a deep breath and looked Arthur cold in the eye. "I can't find Mircea. All of his stuff has been cleared from the ship. Have you seen Stefan at all today?"

Arthur and Amelia exchanged worried glances.

"We were going to contact you about that as soon as we finished breakfast. Stefan's room was empty this morning, but something was left for you," Arthur said calmly. Iona felt her blood run to a freezing standstill, and the world began to spin.

"No, God. Please no…" she whispered, even though she already knew. "Show me," she managed to squeak.

Arthur disappeared for a moment, returning with a familiar red coat and an envelope in his hands. He silently gave both to Iona.

_ Iona,_

_I'm sorry, but I had to leave. I hope you'll forgive me one day. I love you._

_ Mircea._

It occurred to Iona that she was once again receiving bad news in the form of a letter in her family's foyer, and the thought brought her to her knees. She had gone to Hell and back for him…

Arthur laid a comforting hand on his sister's back and then crouched down next to the young woman with a sad look back at his wife.

"Come on, Iona. Let's get you ready for today."

He picked the crying woman up and carried her to her bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall, a room she had not inhabited for nearly six years, but that was still definitively hers.

**Somewhere over the Netherlands — April 30th, 1890 — 11:56**

**Alexandru Mircea ****Bălan**

It seemed as though the entire ship was gathered around various radio sets. Today was the day that a young, female, Scottish former pirate captain of all people was going to be commissioned as not only part of the British Royal Air Force, but also as the Commander-General of the entire United European Air Force. Needless to say, nobody wanted to miss a single part of the proceedings.

Mircea stood away from the crowd, trying to pretend like he didn't care, but something in his chest felt so empty. Stefan had run off to explore the airship a while ago, leaving the young sorcerer alone with his thoughts and the din of the crowd.

"I wonder what she's like," he heard one woman mutter.

"I've heard that she nearly killed Braginsky without even touching him," a nearby man said.

"I bet it's all a bunch of horseshit, really."

"I wonder what she's like in person."

He listened half-heartedly to the many conversations until a silence ran through the crowd.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen,_" a voice said over the radio, "_General Lucius Vargas of Italy._"

Vargas spoke for what seemed like ages, and then Captain Whittard, the old bastard, had the pleasure of introducing Iona. The quiet murmurs that had been rising from the crowd around the speaker and from the speaker suddenly stopped, and the sound of heels clicking against wood could be heard from the set.

"_I willnae make this long, as I'm sure you all have better things to do than listen to me speak_," a familiar Scottish burr began. Mircea felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and he had to fight the urge to run up to the bridge and ask them to turn the ship around.

"_A few weeks ago, I was a pirate captain with a bounty on my head. Before that, I was the lover and first mate of another captain. And long before that, I was a young woman with no sense of direction in her life. Up until a few months ago, I had no reason to continue living except that my instincts told me I needed to survive. I abandoned my siblings three weeks after the untimely death of my parents. I stole, I killed, and I wreaked havoc upon the world for five years. I loved people, and more recently, I lost people. It is because of these experiences that I now stand before all of you speaking as the new head of the United European Air Force — or at least, the soon-to-be. I cannae promise that the process of rebuilding will be easy. Believe me, it never is. However, I believe that if we all work together as one continent to uphold the ideals of peace, unity, and cooperation, the whole of Europe will thrive. I promise to do all in my power to protect you, the people of Europe, from any and all threats, whether internal or external. I swear by all that I am and all that I have to do whatever I can to lead the UEAF towards achieving long-term goals of peace and prosperity. All I ask in return is that you all join me. Thank you."_

Mircea didn't realise he was shaking until a kindly older woman asked him if he was okay. At that point, he found his way to his cabin, sat down on the bed, buried his head in his hands, and cried. What had he done?

Stefan showed up a little while later and said nothing. For a ten year old, he was perceptive and knew his brother had sacrificed a lot for his sake.

"You'll see her again, Mircea, I promise," Stefan finally said. Mircea looked up and gave the boy a watery smile.

"I hope you're right, Stefan," he said, drawing his brother in for a hug.

"I hope I am too. I want you guys to get married."


	24. Chapter 24: Est Mon Commencement

**Windhaven Estate, London, England — May 1st, 1891 — 17:00**

**Arthur George Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"What did Iona's letter say, Artie?" Amelia asked, walking into the spacious kitchen with a baby in each arm.

Arthur turned and looked at his wife, three pieces of fine stationary in his hand. There was elegant cursive handwriting covering the fronts and backs of all three pages.

"She's in Hong Kong, currently. Found herself a nice assistant. No sign of Mircea, though. She didn't say as much, but I could feel her dancing around the subject all throughout the letter."

"Is she healthy?"

"Couldn't be healthier. I think the travel and freedom of her position have helped her greatly," Arthur said, taking one of his twin sons into his arms. "But I wouldn't say she's happy."

Amelia glanced at Arthur with sad blue eyes. Arthur hadn't stopped worrying about his sister since the moment she'd shown up at the front door in shambles on the day of her commissioning.

"I would be very surprised if she were happy, Arthur," the American said, nodding her head towards their sitting room.

Arthur sunk down into his favourite armchair after placing green-eyed Byron into the babe's bassinet. The Englishman watched his wife do the same with Jefferson before perching on Arthur's lap.

"I found him, you know — Mircea, I mean. I tracked him down through his solicitor after the Romanian government finally unfroze his and Stefan's inheritance. I was very surprised when I realised Iona hadn't thought to do that. Maybe she did, and she just chose to leave them be. She's halfway across the world and I can still feel how broken and desolate she is. I understand why he did it. So does she, but God, it hurts me to see Iona like this," Arthur said with a heavy sigh.

"I just worry about what happens when they finally do see each other again," Amelia chuckled sadly.

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm pretty sure she'll tear Mircea limb from limb."

Arthur smiled. "No, but she certainly will make sure he's aware of everything he's put her through. I think he means too much to Iona for her to kill him."

"Fair enough.

**Venice, Italy — December 15th, 1891 — 20:38**

**Romana Vargas**

Romana was in no mood for an evening stroll. It was cold and dark and she was tired and hungry.

"Where are you taking me, _bastardo_?" she hissed at Antonio.

"You'll see when we get there, Roma!" Antonio chirped, grinning widely. It made Romana's pulse race a bit, that smile. Antonio was an annoying bastard, but at least he was _her _annoying bastard.

"This had better be worth it," she grumbled, letting the Spaniard lead her through the streets of Venice. A light snow was falling, making the city look softer and more like something out of an old fairy tale than normal. Despite the cold, it was a fairly romantic evening.

Eventually, the street got wider until it opened onto a landing for a large bridge.

"Why did you bring me to the Ponte dell'Accademia, you fool?" Romana said irritably.

"Patience, Roma. You'll find out very soon," Antonio said, leading her by the hand up the stairs of the massive wooden bridge.

He abruptly stopped once they were at the apex, standing in the dead-center of the pathway.

"Close your eyes for a moment, okay?" he said, letting go of Romana's hand. Romana raised an eyebrow, but complied, thankful that the bridge was empty. She didn't want any witnesses to whatever stupid thing her boyfriend was about to do.

She heard him move about, sensing him right in front of her. After a few moments, the movement stopped and Antonio let out a determined breath.

"Open your eyes, _mi tomate pequeñita_," the Spaniard said.

Romana opened her eyes and let out a gasp, one hand flying to cover her mouth.

Antonio knelt in the snow before her on one knee, a small box containing a brilliant diamond ring held up as an offering to the young woman before him.

"I-I asked your grandfather for his blessing. He only gave it to me yesterday, but I decided it was now or never," Antonio said sheepishly, looking at Romana with hopeful eyes. "I am so grateful to God that you and your _hermana_ stowed away on my ship, because it brought you into my life. You gave me something valuable to fight for and to live for, and I want more than anything to spend the rest of my life with you, Romana. I guess what I mean to say is, Romana Lovina Chiara Vargas, will you marry me?"

Romana remained frozen, staring at her boyfriend with wide amber eyes.

"O-of course I'll marry you," she finally squeaked, wiping away a tear that was attempting to escape from her eye.

Antonio leapt up and slid the ring onto her left ring finger before embracing her tightly.

"Oh! Romana! This makes me so happy!"

Romana pulled back just enough to grab the front of Antonio's shirt and pull him to her in a kiss.

"I want a November wedding," she said against his lips, smiling.

**United European Air Force Headquarters, Edinburgh, Scotland**

**October 20th, 1892 — 14:00**

**Commander-General Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona hated meetings with the heads of the various air forces that comprised the UEAF. Sure, she was the overall head, but half the time, it felt more like she was a cadet rather than commander-general, especially when Maurice Delacroix, head of the French Air Force, was leading the meeting.

"What do you think, Mademoiselle Mackenzie?" Delacroix said, snapping Iona out of her reverie.

"Huh? What? And that's Commander-General Kirkland-Mackenzie, to you, Commander Delacroix," Iona said, fixing the Frenchman with an icy stare. Oh, how she wished that Francis was responsible enough for her to grandfather into the UEAF, but no, he just had to be a womanizing dumb blond.

"What do you think of increasing the French section's fleet of warships?"

"Why would the French section need an increase in warships? You lot are by far the quietest section, and you just had all of your existing ships upgraded immensely," Iona sighed.

"But what if —"

"My answer is no, Commander Delacroix. I see no reason to spend all of that money on a section that doesn't have a need for it, and I ask that you don't waste my time with arguing about the matter. I do, however, believe that the Polish section does need new ships, and so I turn this meeting over to Commander Brzezicki."

The French commander glared at Iona, earning a satisfied smirk from the young Scotswoman. Was she being entirely unprofessional for someone of her rank? Absolutely, but it was completely worth it in her mind. She was, after all, the top dog.

The meeting continued peacefully under the Polish commander's direction as he gave his argument for why the Polish section needed more ships.

Suddenly, the door flew open and one of the orderlies burst in, rushing to Iona's side.

"Excuse me, Commander-General, ma'am, but there's a telegraph for you," he said hurriedly.

"Could it not have waited? I'm in the middle of a meeting."

"It's from the Italians, ma'am. They said that it's urgent."

Iona rolled her eyes and rose from her chair. It was always urgent with the Italians, always some sort of emergency.

"I turn complete control of this meeting over to Commander Brzezicki. I also approve of his request for more warships. I give him full right to customise them as he wishes. Good day, all," she said, using a small amount of magic to project her voice in order to bring them to attention.

Delacroix looked ready to argue, but Iona was long gone by that point.

She flew to her office, nearly knocking her lieutenant, Leon, to the ground.

"It's on your desk, Iona," he grumbled.

"Sorry, Leon. Did they say who the telegraph is from?"

"I'm not sure."

Iona stomped over to her desk, glaring daggers at the cream-coloured envelope.

"I thought you said this was a telegraph?" she huffed.

"We were just following the instructions that came along with it, ma'am," Leon said with a shrug.

Iona looked back at the envelope, dropping her shoulders and sighing resignedly.

It was addressed to her in scrawling gold script, but had no return address.

"What the — ?"

She opened it and pulled out a folded piece of stiff ivory paper. It was decorated with gold filigree, piquing Iona's curiosity even more.

"What does it say, ma'am?"

"I don't know. I haven't actually unfolded it yet. Sorry for being snappish, by the way. Much as I hate meetings, they are important and I don't like being interrupted."

"It's quite all right."

Iona nodded and unfolded the letter.

"Señor Antonio Fernández Carriedo and Señorita Romana Chiara Vargas humbly request your presence at the occasion of their marriage at _la __Catedral de Santa María de la Sede_ in the city of Seville in Andalusia, España on the Twenty-Ninth of November in the Year of Our Lord Eighteen Hundred Ninety-Two at Seven in the Evening. All guests are encouraged to spend the month of November in the city as a range of parties, tours, and other activities will be hosted by the bride's family. Everyone in attendance will be housed at the Hotel Alfonso XIII for the entirety of the month. Guests attending alone will share rooms with one another based upon the bride and groom's directions, while couples will be given their own rooms. The bride and groom ask that all guests RSVP to the invitation via telegram immediately so arrangements can be made."

"_Tis aboot damn bloody time_!" Iona exclaimed after she read the invitation.

"What is it?" Leon asked.

"It's a wedding invitation. Antonio and Romana are **finally** getting married," Iona answered excitedly. "Leon, I need you to clear my schedule for the entire month of November — the inspections in Smolensk will need to be pushed back until the first two weeks of December — and then I need you to make arrangements for someone to take care of Glasgow while I'm gone, make sure _The Phoenix_ is ready to leave for Spain, get all of my formal clothing to the cleaners, and get me some tea."

"Ummm can you write all of that down?"

"Only if you go get me tea and some scones — don't forget the clotted cream and **raspberry** jam — and agree to take tea with me."

Leon blinked a number of times before rushing out the door, only pausing to smile at his boss quickly.

**Cuza Voda 40-42, Sector 4, Bucharest, Romania —October 22nd, 1892 — 09:00**

**Alexandru Mircea ****Bălan**

"Not to be the nagging older brother, Stefan, but can you please clean your room? You know that Arthur and Amelia are arriving soon," Mircea called.

"Yes, Brother! Sorry!" Stefan answered. Mircea heard the sound of Stefan running down the upstairs hall, just as the doorbell rang.

"Quickly, Stefan!"

He listened for the sound of Stefan's bedroom door shutting before walking into the front hall of their apartment.

Outside, he could hear two voices talking.

"Are you sure this is the right place, Artie?" a chirpy female voice inquired.

"Yes, yes, my love. I'm sure,_" _a man said.

"Then why aren't they answering?"

"They're probably busy, Amelia. Give it a few minutes."

"Then ring the doorbell again. It's cold out here, goofy."

The doorbell rang again. Mircea waited a few seconds.

"_Buna! Bine ati venit!_" he cried, drawing Arthur and Amelia in for a big bear hug.

"Hello!" Amelia exclaimed, clapping Mircea on the back with a grin.

"Please, come in, come in. Can I get you two anything? I'm sure it's been a long journey," Mircea said, ushering them in out of the cold October air.

"Tea would be lovely, thanks," Arthur replied.

"Amelia?" Mircea asked.

"Do you have coffee? I'm dying for some because the Brits have no idea what real coffee is," Amelia complained. Her husband rolled his eyes and gave Mircea and apologetic look.

"Yup! I have both of those! You two can go put your bags in the guestroom. It's just up the stairs and to the left. I'll go get started and we can reconvene in the sitting room in a little while," Mircea said, using his hand to indicate directions and locations.

Fifteen minutes later, the three adults plus Stefan gathered in the elegant sitting room at the front of the house.

Mircea could clearly see the surprise on Arthur and Amelia's faces at how upper class the house was. He couldn't blame them, considering the fact that at least part of his and Stefan's new wealthy lifestyle was due to Iona. Even after he and his little brother had disappeared, abandoning the Scotswoman right before her commissioning ceremony, Iona had personally taken on the Romanian government and freed the brothers' massive inheritance from their government-appointed lawyer and executor of their parents' estate. Mircea could understand how that might be a little awkward for Arthur especially.

Amelia was the first to break the awkward silence.

"Damn, Mircea! This place is super nice!" she exclaimed, pouring herself a second cup of coffee.

"T-thank you," Mircea stammered. "My father left it to me — well, to me and Stefan."

"Yes, it is quite lovely," Arthur said, taking a sip of his tea.

"Mister Arthur," Stefan said suddenly, looking at the Englishman with a maturity uncommon for someone his age. "Why are you guys here?"

Arthur and Mircea both stared at Stefan, taken aback.

After a few moments of careful consideration, Arthur took a deep breath and smiled.

"Because Antonio and Romana are getting married in a little over a month, and they asked me to extend their invitation to you both."

Mircea spat out his tea and Stefan gasped, both grinning.

"That's wonderful!" Mircea cried, grinning.

"I can't go," Stefan said sadly. "I return to school next week."

Mircea's face fell. He had forgotten that Stefan was only home for a small break. The thought was sobering.

Then it hit him why Arthur was sitting in his living room.

"Iona's going to be there, isn't she?" he said quietly, hands shaking. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Iona because God above, he wanted nothing more. But seeing her and ruining the celebrations for her was the last thing he wanted.

"Yes," was all Arthur said.

"H-has she moved on?"

"Not in the slightest."

That took Mircea by surprise.

"Wait, what? You mean she-she still…?"

"More than anything in this world."

"But she always looks so happy in the newspapers."

"She's not."

"B-but do you really think she would take me back?"

"Without a single doubt."

Mircea stared at Arthur, dumbfounded. He had convinced himself that Iona had moved on, partially to ease his guilt, but also partially to soften the constant breaking of his own heart. It hadn't been successful, but he still found it shocking.

"She flirted with Lukas for a bit — he's the head of magic for the UEAF now — and we thought that maybe she'd finally moved on for good, but the minute she got wind that you and Stefan had been looking at boarding schools in Britain, all of her feelings for you resurfaced. She hasn't stopped loving you, Mircea."

"I don't want to cause her more pain, though."

"Mircea," Stefan interjected, staring pointedly at his brother. "Go. Enough stalling and putting it off. This is your second chance. Don't be an asshole and waste it."

Mircea gaped at his brother, stunned into silence.

"Well," he finally said, "I guess I'm going to go see Iona."

**Seville, Spain—November 1st, 1892—23:30**

**Commander-General Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona found her hotel room much too big for just one person. She had only been there for two days, and she already hated how her footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed off the walls of the large corner room. She hated how cold the king-sized bed was when she was the only one sleeping in it. She especially hated how she ate every meal alone and woke up alone. All of the others gathered together for Antonio and Romana's wedding either had a significant other, or had a roommate, but not Iona. If this was how every evening was going to feel, it was going to be a very long month.

The Scotswoman gently removed the makeup she had begun wearing, watching her reflection change from mysterious to plain as she removed the eyeliner and shadow. The hotel was a little drafty, and wearing only a thin nightgown underneath a makeshift dressing gown, Iona felt every chill of the late-autumn weather outside, despite the fire burning brightly in the fireplace. She tugged the red wool military style coat she used as a robe tightly around her shoulders, pausing to bury her nose in the collar momentarily, tears stinging her eyes at the familiar scent of various herbs and spices that still lingered, even after nearly two years. She would've given anything to feel the owner of the jacket's arms around her again, holding her close and warm.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to one who lives there. He once was—" she started singing, but found herself unable to finish as she choked back a sob. She quickly finished getting ready for bed, untying her braid and letting her hair cascade down her shoulders.

Iona took off the jacket, placing it beside her on the bed, and snuggled up under the covers before turning off the light on the bedside table. Only then did she allow the tears to come, filling up the room with soft whimpers and the occasional sob.

She finally wore herself out, and mercifully, sleep came soon after her crying had ceased.

A little while later, the door of the room opened softly, and a tall shadow crept in, padding around to the other side of the bed. He removed his shirt, shoes, and hat, and then sat on the side of the bed, playing with a strand of Iona's hair, which shone gold-red in the light of the fire.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to one who lives there; she once was a true love of mine," the shadow sang in a thickly accented voice. He bent down and placed a kiss on Iona's forehead.

"_Am dor de tine, Iona, dar acum eu sunt aici, iar eu nu te va lăsa din nou_," he said in Romanian, joining the Scotswoman underneath the covers and gathering her up in his arms.

**Seville, Spain—November 2nd, 1892—06:00**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

Mircea awoke early the next morning, and pulled a clean shirt from his bag, enjoying the feeling of the soft linen as he put it on. He smoothed out his tousled strawberry-blond hair before quickly climbing back into the bed with Iona, allowing her to curl up against him once more, drifting back to sleep for another two hours. Iona was still fast asleep when Mircea woke up again.

Iona nuzzled the warm body next to her.

"I told you, Mircea, a giant stuffed Nessie was totally worth £300. It's warm, and it smells like you," she mumbled in her sleep.

Mircea smiled at the woman in his arms, brushing a short mahogany curl out of her face.

"I still think you should've gotten the stuffed sheep," he whispered.

"Why would I want to buy a giant stuffed sheep? I'm already surrounded by them, Mir," came the slurred reply. Mircea laughed inwardly, hugging the young woman tighter.

"It's time to wake up, Iona. I have a surprise for you," he said after a few minutes.

"Just a little bit longer, Mircea. Surprises can wait."

"Not this one, _fata mea frumoasă_. Wake up," Mircea laughed. Finally, she opened one green-grey eye, and found herself face-to-face with a ghost.

"Holy hell! _Mircea, ye'r 'ere! Whit th' bugger 're ye doin' 'ere_?" Iona shrieked. She jumped out of the bed and landed like a cat about to pounce.

"What do you mean? I'm here to stay!" he said with his usual grin. He tried taking a step around the bed towards Iona, but stopped as the young woman took a step back.

"Stay? With me?" Iona scoffed, crossing her arms and then uncrossing them.

"Of course, silly! I mean, I'd have to find a school for Stefan to go to — he says 'hi,' by the way — but I've given it a lot of thought and I've realised that my place is with you!"

Iona narrowed her eyes.

"You up and two days after we docked in London with only a vague note about leaving for Bucharest. You didn't even apologise! An explanation would have been nice. I went toe-to-toe with the Romanian government for Heaven's sake to ensure that you would be able to support yourself, and did you even think to write or call or anything? No!"

"Iona, I'm sorry. I really am so very, very sorry," Mircea whimpered.

"What the bloody fucking hell makes you think I want you back after everything you've put me through? What right do you have to waltz in here like the past two years never happened and expect me to just accept you with open arms?"

"I-I-I have no right, Iona, but you have to realise that I never wanted to leave you."

"Did you just imagine that everything would be perfectly okay if you came in while I was asleep and held me in your arms like you used to? Was that your reasoning?"

"That may have been what I thought would happen, yes," Mircea said sheepishly.

"Is that fair?

"If it hadn't been for the fact that you left the day of my official appointment as Commander-General, I would've spent an entire month, if not longer, being a depressed, anxious mess! Do you know what you've put me through? Did you mean to rip my heart to shreds, you bloody piece of trash?" Iona cried, her eyes beginning to glow silver.

"I can explain! I can explain! Iona, calm down!" Mircea yelled as he dodged a pillow flying at his head.

"You have exactly one minute to do so before I knock those fangs of yours out, Mircea Bălan! You should thank God Almighty that I haven't already killed you!" Iona yelled.

"It's going to take longer than one minute, _draga mea_. Why don't you make yourself some tea and get back into bed and be comfy and I can explain everything? Doesn't that sound like a good i—"

"No, Mircea. Now. Explain now, or so help me—"

"I plan to!"

"Stop putting it off! I don't have time for—"

"Then sit the hell down!"

Iona gaped at the command, but complied, sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room.

"I really loved being with you, but I couldn't leave Stefan behind. You were so excited about everything with the UEAF and I knew I couldn't take that from you, but I had to ensure that Stefan made it back to Bucharest and that he was comfortable. With Uncle Sadik dead, he had nowhere else to go. I had to put him before myself. He's the only family I have left. It wouldn't have been fair to make him move to the complete other side of Europe and force him to acclimate to a new culture. I really, truly wanted to stay with you, and I almost turned back at least five times every day, but I had a duty to my family, you have to believe me, Iona. If I could have, I would've never left your side," Mircea said, looking at Iona with sad red eyes.

"You could've at least written a letter, or called me. I would've understood. Hell, if you'd asked, I would've moved to Romania," Iona snapped.

"But, your family—"

"To hell with my family. They survived for nearly six years without me. They would've been able to handle it."

"Yes, but then you wouldn't have gotten to become the head of the UEAF. _The_ _Phoenix_ would've been given to some bastard who doesn't understand the significance, and everything that happened onboard that ship would've been forgotten."

"Do you think I care? I would've rather had you by my side than be some captain or commander-general or whatever the hell you want to call me. You said that you loved me, and that's a little important, don't you think?" Iona growled.

"Iona, I'm so sorry," Mircea sighed, staring at the ground.

They sat in tense silence for many moments.

"Why'd you come back? Why now?" Iona said, looking at the strawberry blond expectantly.

"_Pentru că te iubesc. Eu mereu te-am iubit, iar eu mereu te voi iubi. __Sunt gata sa stau de partea ta pentru tot restul eternității, dacă mă vei avea, Commander-General Kirkland-Mackenzie_," Mircea replied in Romanian, his cheeks flushing red.

"You're going to have to repeat that, you idiot. I don't speak Romanian," Iona said coldly.

"Because, I love you. I always have loved you, and I always will. I'm ready to stay by your side for the rest of eternity, if you'll have me, Commander-General Kirkland-Mackenzie."

Iona blanched and froze, and Mircea could tell that he'd maybe gotten through to her.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Iona hissed, "Love wouldn't just abandon someone without any mention of being okay or any sort of explanation."

Mircea felt his heart drop, and he stared at the ground for a very long time. Something on the floor caught his eye.

"Hey, my coat! I've been looking for that for a while!" he exclaimed, picking up the red wool military coat.

"You left it for me," Iona said.

"I thought you would've burned it by now! I'm so glad it's here!"

"Should've just thrown it into the sea or something," Iona growled.

A thought occurred to Mircea, and he got up and walked over to the woman, carrying the coat with him.

"Did you ever bother looking in the top inside pocket? You know, the one that goes right over the heart?" he said, grinning. Iona shook her head and avoided his eyes.

"Didn't think so," Mircea chuckled. He handed her the coat, earning a look of confusion.

"What the hell do you want me to do with it?" she snapped.

"I want you to check the pocket. Maybe if my words can't melt your heart, then my actions can," he responded quietly. Iona looked at him warily, but complied, reaching one pale hand into the inner pocket, pulling out a folded photo.

"Go ahead, see what it is," he prodded.

The Scotswoman slowly unfolded the tiny thing, took one look at the photo, and gasped, dropping the paper. Mircea watched as tears welled up in her green-grey eyes. It was a picture of her, standing on the deck of _Der Adler_ in a rare moment of being caught off guard. She remembered when Mircea had taken the picture. It had been two weeks before Mircea had sworn off of dark magic, a second in time captured while Iona had been admiring the Japanese countryside.

"How long has that been in there?" she choked, hands flying to her mouth.

"Since I gave up dark magic—since I realized that I love you," Mircea said softly. Iona looked up at him with a watery smile.

"You idiot," she sniffed, letting a few tears fall. Her smile was still in place as she stood and closed the gap between them. Mircea reached behind her and placed the coat around her shoulders before wrapping the shivering woman in a large hug, holding her as though he were scared she would disappear if he let go.

"I told you, Iona. I love you. Always have, always will," he said, face buried in the top of her head. Iona said something, but her words were muffled by his shirt.

"_A loue ye, tae, Mircea. Ah ken Ah ne'er tellt ye this afore we parted ways two years b'gane, bit Ah loue ye, 'n' Ah think Ah hae sin Ah foremaist met ye. Even whin Ah wis Gilbert's burd, Ah loved ye, though Ah often tellt masell 'twas hee haw. A'm sorry Ah git sae crabbit, Mir. Wull ye forgive me?_" she repeated, her accent almost as difficult to understand as Mircea's.

Mircea had often gone over how he thought this moment would play out in his head during the previous years, often thought about what it would finally be like to fully admit to Iona everything he'd kept in for the past six years, not just some innocent kiss stolen in the light of dying candles as they danced towards death. He had always thought that it would end in a kiss in some misty glen in Scotland after a picnic, or possibly in a romantic place like Venice or Rome. He had always assumed everything leading up to it would be perfect, and that it would be filled with happiness and elegance and perfection. Never in a million years had he thought that he would end up spilling his heart to Iona while sitting in a hotel room faced with a livid Scotswoman after not hearing from her at all for two years, nor had he ever thought that it would come about as a result of finding his favourite coat after sneaking into her hotel room at one in the morning.

"You're going to have to repeat that again in a much more anglicised accent," he whispered.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

Mircea hugged her tighter, breathing in the scent of Argan oil and whiskey and caramel and cinnamon, a scent which he had come to love more than anything.

"Don't ever leave me again," Iona commanded, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. Mircea wiped away a tear from her cheek and planted a small kiss on her hairline.

"Never," he said, sealing his words with a kiss.

**Seville, Spain—November 29th, 1892—19:00**

**Commander-General Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

Iona really hadn't attended many weddings in her life. Really, she'd only ever been to one, two if she counted officiating Arthur and Amelia's marriage in the midst of a raging battle. Everybody said that Antonio and Romana's wedding was the best they'd ever been to, but Iona wasn't quite sure. She didn't have much experience to go off of.

Even still, she found herself enjoying the soft organ music filling the cathedral as guests gathered in. André, Antonio's elder brother, sat alone in the front row on the groom's side, while Romana's family's side was completely filled with people talking loudly over one another. The former crew members of _The_ _Phoenix_ took up the pews in the very back of the church, and Iona was struck by how nice everyone looked. Arthur sat a few people down, talking with his American wife jovially. Both were dressed far better than Iona had seen them in months, and she guessed that the couple was thankful for a break from their twin sons.

Mircea sat beside her on the very end of the pew, his left hand holding her right. Occasionally, he would play with the Claddagh ring on her ring finger and the small Celtic knot on her thumb. While her Romanian occupied himself with talking to Lukas about various spells, Iona was content with taking in the sights and sounds of the Spanish cathedral. She felt mildly uncomfortable in the outfit she'd chosen for the wedding, not because it was too much of a summer outfit for the late autumn affair, or because she felt silly in such frivolities. No, she felt uncomfortable because she wasn't in her uniform, meaning she was entirely underdressed for the occasion. Mircea had told her that she looked lovely in the cream-coloured blouse with the light purple silk skirt and violet corset, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd regretted not wearing her UEAF uniform to the wedding. The royal blue skirt and matching double-breasted coat had become like a second skin to Iona, reminding her that she needed no one but herself and God for happiness. Now, here she sat, looking more like some schoolteacher or a secretary than the Commander-General of the United European Air Force.

"Are you alright there, _draga_ _mea_?" Mircea whispered.

"What? Of course I'm okay. Why would you ask?" Iona said with a nervous smile.

"You've been digging your nails into my palm for the past five minutes, and the wedding hasn't even started," Mircea laughed gently.

"Oh. I just feel uncomfortable, that's all."

Mircea gave her a questioning look.

"You mean Commander-General Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie, head of the UEAF and renowned badass is...uncomfortable? I must not be doing my job right then," Mircea teased.

"That's why I feel uncomfortable, Mir. I'm underdressed for this. I should be wearing my uniform, not this...this...this," she said, gesturing at her outfit.

"You worry too much, Iona. You look lovely and feminine and perfectly dressed for a late autumn wedding. Just don't wear that to the reception tomorrow evening," Mircea said with another laugh. He squeezed her hand, just as the music changed to a more dramatic waltz. Everyone turned to look at the back of the cathedral.

Feliciana was the sole bridesmaid, just as Ludwig was the sole groomsman, and the two of them walked down the long aisle, Feliciana a vision in a light pink gown with flowers all in her hair. After they had joined Antonio up at the altar, the ring bearer trotted in, earning laughs from all of the guests, and took his place at Antonio's side. He was followed by the flower girl sprinkling light pink rose petals on the red carpet.

Finally, the bridal march began, and everyone rose and turned to watch as Romana, escorted by her grandfather, walked down the aisle, never taking her eyes off of Antonio.

"She's so beautiful," Iona gasped. Mircea looked down at her, smiling widely at the delight in her voice. It was true, Romana looked gorgeous. Mircea likened her to some sort of Mediterranean angel in a high-necked gown with a full skirt and a long, flowing train. Antonio was a lucky guy, but, standing hand in hand with Iona, Mircea felt ten times luckier.

Lucius Vargas handed off his older granddaughter to Antonio, though not before hugging Romana tightly and sobbing a little. The wedding was beautiful, and Vash's little sister, Lilli, kept a soft tune playing on the organ in the background, adding to the heavenliness of the entire thing. The crowd went wild when the priest finally pronounced Antonio and Romana "man and wife," and told them to kiss, and in the end, Ludwig had to clear his throat to break the newlyweds apart.

Since the reception wasn't until the following evening, everyone left the church three hours later and dispersed, some going back to the hotel, others to bars and restaurants, and others just going to see the sights of Seville.

"So, what do you wish to do, _lubita_ _mea_?" Mircea asked once they had exited the cathedral into the cold night air. He threw an arm around Iona's shoulders after helping her into her coat.

"Anywhere that's not outside. It's cold," she huffed.

"In that case, why not just back to the hotel? I'm exhausted, and the bed should be nice and warm," Mircea said, playing with one of Iona's curls.

"Aye. That sounds perfect."

**Seville, Spain—November 30th, 1892—23:00**

**Alexandru Mircea Bălan**

"Mircea! How long have you been here in town?" a familiar voice called from behind the Romanian. He turned around and found Viktor smiling at him widely, obviously a little tipsy.

"Since the first," Mircea said politely, eying his former friend warily. He'd been less than amused when Viktor had somehow been freed from prison, and he was entirely sure that the Bulgarian had snuck into the reception.

"_Проклет_, how have I not seen you?" the Bulgarian laughed, clapping Mircea on the back and letting his hand linger on the Romanian's shoulder. Mircea gave him a sidelong glare.

"Because I don't go out of my way to reconnect with traitors," he growled.

Viktor immediately sobered up.

"Look, I said I was sorry. I didn't mea—"

"A man lost his life because of you, _furişare_, and the deaths of many others are on your head."

Viktor stared at the ground while Mircea tried to distract himself with watching Iona glide across the dance floor with Arthur, the two siblings laughing and smiling.

"What about second chances?" Viktor asked quietly, though he knew the answer.

"For you? None," Mircea snapped.

"Oh, come off it, Mir. Don't you remember all those times we ran around Bucharest, wild as animals, whooping and hollering and being obnoxious? Don't you remember the time before Stefan and that Scottish wench and piracy?" Viktor said with a hearty laugh. Mircea didn't budge.

"What did you call her?"

"I'm only telling the truth. She's nothing but some fiery-headed slut. I mean, she abandoned her family just so she could run off and sleep with Gilbert—"

"Don't you ever say that about Iona ever again. Got that, Aleksandrov? You might not realise it, but Iona Kirkland-Mackenzie and I are dating."

Viktor blanched.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go dance with my girlfriend," Mircea hissed, walking over to Iona and Arthur. He exchanged a few cordial words with the Englishman, and took Iona's hand, pulling her close to him.

"Did I mention that you look stunning in that dress?" he said, eyes wandering over the blue silk as they began waltzing.

"You might have once or twice, but from you, I'm always happy to hear it," Iona purred, looking up at him with jovial green eyes.

"Good, because, if you'll allow me, I'll tell you how gorgeous you look every day for the rest of your life," Mircea said. It took Iona a moment to register what he was saying, and her eyes widened.

"I, well, uh, erm, eh, well, I think it's too soon, Mir. Don't get me wrong. I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but it's only been a month. I'm only twenty-six as of today. I have an entire United European Air Force to command. I want to see the world, meet people from all walks of life, go and do the things Alistair and I always talked about doing, and I want you to come with me, but I'm not ready to even be engaged yet, let alone married. Let's just take this slowly, okay?" she said. Mircea smiled.

"Engagement is no more binding than dating. It just involves a beautiful ring and a new title," he said, grinningly widely.

"I know, but it's still terrifyin—Mircea, you fool, what are you doing?" Iona said, halting as Mircea took a step back from her and dropped to one knee, pulling a small, square box from his jacket pocket.

"Iona, _te măriți cu mine?_" Mircea said with a hopeful smile. He opened the box to reveal an elegant white gold Claddagh ring with a sapphire in place of the heart and a diamond as the crown.

Iona covered her mouth with both hands, a look of shock and joy and love on her face. Mircea knew that, even if she didn't speak Romanian, Iona was smart enough to know what he was asking.

"You tricked me, you-you— Oh, of course I will, Mircea!" she gasped, though she quickly sobered up. "Just…not anytime soon, okay?"

"But you promise that one day we will?" he asked.

"Absolutely, you idiot. I can't imagine anyone else I'd want to settle down with," she replied.

"Good, because I can't either," Mircea laughed.

With that, he slipped the new ring onto her left ring finger with the heart facing outwards and stood up to embrace his now-fiancée.

"Speaking of the UEAF, how are they surviving without you right now?" Mircea said, twirling the Scotswoman.

"I call to check in once a day and give orders at that point. Anything else that comes up falls on the shoulders of my lieutenant, a young man from Hong Kong named Leon," Iona replied.

"So are you looking for any new crew members, or am I going to have to stay at home and watch your ten Border Collies like a good fiancé?"

"Well, I don't need crew members, but I could use a companion. Nights onboard _The_ _UES_ _Phoenix_ get rather lonely when you're at the top of the food chain, and I only have one Border Collie, thank you, and he goes everywhere with me...except here because Feliciana is terrified of dogs."

"What's his name?"

"Glasgow."

"Commander-General Iona Kirkland-Mackenzie and her trusty companion Glasgow, saving the world and breaking hearts," Mircea joked, tapping Iona on the nose lightly.

"Well, obviously, I'm mending hearts now rather than breaking them," Iona laughed with a wink. Mircea twirled her around, smiling at his fiancée. It felt weird referring to her as such, even after an entire month of calling her his girlfriend and six years of calling her his best friend. He couldn't believe that finally, after five years of loving her, she was his, and eventually, they'd be married. The thought made him want to hold her close and never let go, not because he was afraid of losing her anymore, but because he wanted to show her just how much she meant to him.

The song ended and Mircea dragged Iona outside to a balcony. The cool November air smelt of bonfires and spices.

"So when do you leave again, Commander-General?" Mircea asked, leaning back against the railing.

"Tomorrow morning at dawn. I have to get back to headquarters and prepare for my next mission," Iona replied. She stood in front of him, shivering faintly in her thin silk dress. Mircea removed his jacket and placed it around Iona's bared shoulders.

"Better?" Mircea said, brushing some hair from her face.

"Aye, but I think I like the red coat more," Iona said with a smile.

"I can get you one of your own if you'd like, though I think it'd be strange for the head of the UEAF to have a Romanian military coat."

"No, I think I like stealing yours," Iona teased.

"I like it when you steal mine, too," Mircea said with a grin.

"Where did you even get that thing? I know you weren't ever a military man."

"It was my father's. He gave it to me before he and my stepmother left on the trip that led to their deaths."

Iona nodded and stepped towards him, still shivering underneath his coat. Mircea wrapped his arms around her.

"Can we just stay here? I don't really want to go back inside to face the others. I'm tired of smiling at people and telling them about the UEAF and pretending that I've become a lady of society in the two years since I've seen them all. I love Mathias and Jack and Arthur and everyone, but all I really want to do is curl up beside the fire or under the stars with you, Mircea. I don't want to wear this damn dress anymore. I want to remove all of this stupid bloody makeup and run a brush through my hair and just be Iona again, not Lady Kirkland-Mackenzie. I don't even want to be Commander-General. I just want to be Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie, fiancée of Mircea Bălan. Is that too much to ask?" Iona sighed.

"I couldn't agree more, Iona. Why don't we head back to the hotel? It's late and we have an early morning," Mircea said. Iona smiled up at him, and they walked back into the reception hand-in-hand to give Antonio and Romana their best wishes.

**Seville, Spain—December 1st, 1892—06:00**

**Commander-General Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie**

"Mircea, can you help me with these stupid laces?" Iona mumbled, fumbling with the laces on her undershirt. Mircea nursed his second cup of coffee in the corner of the room, watching as his fiancée struggled to get dressed. She stood a few feet away wearing only an undershirt and a pair of knickers, and, in Mircea's mind, she couldn't have looked more beautiful if she tried.

"No, I think I like this view better," Mircea said, earning a glare from the Scotswoman.

"We have to be at the Aerodrome in an hour and a half, and I still have to do my hair and makeup, much as I don't want to. Put down the bloody coffee and come help me, dammit," Iona hissed sleepily. Mircea set down his coffee and walked over, making quick work of the laces.

"Anything else?" he said.

"Nope. Go back to your coffee now."

Mircea continued to watch as Iona pulled on a white, puffy-sleeved blouse and the royal blue skirt of the UEAF female uniform before wrapping the gold corset around her waist.

"Actually, can you come help me with the laces on this thing as well?" she said.

"I'd be happy to," Mircea replied. He carefully tied the laces, making sure not to tie them too tightly.

He dragged her over to the armchair where he'd been sitting and pulled her onto his lap while she put on her brown high-heeled boots. He watched intently as her willowy fingers threaded the laces through each hole and deftly tied them into a knot at the top of each boot, and wondered how it would feel to have those same fingers laced in his hair while—

"Mircea, you're going to need to let me go so I can put on my jacket. Are you all packed? Have you double-checked?" Iona said, squirming to get out of his embrace.

"Yes ma'am, I have!" Mircea exclaimed, letting the young woman go. She hopped off of his lap and Mircea picked his coffee cup back up, finishing it off. He quickly poured himself a third.

Once she had put on the well-tailored double-breasted jacket of her UEAF uniform, Iona sat down at the vanity and grabbed her silver hairbrush. She coaxed the knots out of her curly mahogany hair with a mixture of determination, hard-headedness, and a little bit of magic, and quickly set about French braiding it and twisting the braid into a bun at the base of her neck. Even without makeup, she looked authoritative and fierce, and Mircea felt a surge of pride that this majestic woman was his to keep. However, that didn't mean that Mircea wasn't absolutely fascinated by Iona's makeup process. The precision with which she applied the black kohl along her upper lash line was laser-like, and the palette she used on her eyelids looked both natural and magical, professional and girlish all at once. She sealed it all off with crimson lipstick, and Mircea was taken aback by how absolutely amazing she looked.

Iona glanced at the clock and jumped out of the chair so quickly that she knocked it over.

"Come on, Mir. We have to get going," she huffed, throwing all of her toiletries into a mid-sized carpet bag. She pulled on her heavy black military coat and a pair of gloves as she looked around the room for anything possibly left behind.

A porter had already appeared at the door with a trolley for most of their luggage, so Mircea was only stuck carrying his personal bag and Iona's carpet bag. With one final check in the mirror, Iona dashed out the door, followed by Mircea and the porter.

A carriage waited for them outside the hotel, the breath of the horses forming fluffy white clouds in the cold December darkness.

Mircea helped the footman with the bags, going out of his way to block Iona from entering into the warmth of the buggy until he was finally done. The footman opened the door, and Mircea helped Iona in before climbing in after her.

"Where to, ma'am?" the driver called.

"_Palacio de Vuelo, por favor. Muelle de cinco, a popa estribor. __No hagas caso a los militares_," Iona responded, earning a look of surprise from Mircea.

"What?" she said.

"When did you learn Spanish?"

"Toni's been teaching me via correspondence. I thought it would be a good idea for me to speak multiple languages."

Mircea smiled proudly, throwing his arm around Iona's shoulders and pulling her closer.

"Wake me up when we get there, Mir. I need more sleep," Iona said, snuggling up against the Romanian.

**London, England—December 14th, 1892—14:30**

**Lord Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland**

"Arthur! You've got a letter!" Amelia called from the kitchen. Arthur sighed, wondering who would've bothered sending him anything.

"Coming, love!" he called back, descending the stairs and swooping into the kitchen, kissing his wife on the cheek and ruffling Thomas's hair.

"Here you go, Hon," Amelia said, handing him an official-looking envelope.

Arthur laughed when he saw to whom it was addressed. "Artie-lad, The London House," he read out loud.

"Iona?" Amelia asked.

"Who else?"

"Well, read it! We haven't seen her since Romana and Antonio's wedding!"

"Which was all of two weeks ago…"

"So? She's your sister!"

Arthur sighed and settled into his chair at the table.

"Dear Arthur, Amelia, and The Boys,

Greetings from Smolensk, Russia! Before anyone (here's looking at you, Jefferson) asks, gifts are being sent in a later package closer to the twins' birthday and Christmas (which Mircea and I will be home for, along with Stefan). How are all of you? I know it's only been two weeks since we last saw each other, but a lot can change in that short a time. Mircea and I are doing well, though I'm not going to lie, it's bloody cold here; I've had to pull out Mum's old furs and everything, and I still can't stand to be outside for longer than a few minutes. London will seem tropical in comparison. Got a letter from Dylan recently, as I'm sure you lot did too — can you believe that Sean and Colin actually proposed to their girlfriends? If we're not all careful, we might end up spending all of 1893 going from one wedding to another (granted, I've already told Mircea that I am not getting married for at least another two years)!

You know, Arthur, sometimes I miss being a pirate. I do love being part of the UEAF, don't get me wrong, but it can feel awfully stifling, always having to enforce all of these rules and regulations. I wouldn't trade this job for the world, but I do miss the freedom, and I miss our strange, multinational family (even though, again, I just saw everyone).

Anyways, I just wanted to write and check up on all of you. Give my love to everyone back home, and tell them I'll see them soon.

Much love,

Iona."

Arthur laughed again. He appreciated Iona's constant letters, always letting him know where she was despite the fact that she really wasn't supposed to. He knew she was trying to make up for lost time and be an active part of their family even when she was halfway across the world. That did not, however, stop him and his brothers from complaining about the cost of replying to her many letters.

_Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say could that lass be I? Merry of soul she sailed on a day over the sea to Skye._

_ Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, Onward! the sailors cry; carry the lad that's born to be King over the sea to Skye._

She danced joyfully, her hair spinning around her like a veil as she twirled in the middle of the open field of the hill, arms held out as though embracing the entire world. She thought back on all that had happened to her in the past ten years.

_Mull was astern, Rùm on the port, Eigg on the starboard bow. Glory of youth glowed in her soul; Where is that glory now?_

_ Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar, thunderclouds rend the air; baffled, our foes stand by the shore, follow they will not dare._

She'd begun her journey as a broken, shattered soul following the loss of her twin brother. She'd run off, disguised herself as a man, taken up with a Prussian pirate captain, and sailed the skies as his subordinate.

_Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say, could that lass be I? Merry of soul she sailed on a day over the sea to Skye._

_ Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, Onward! the sailors cry; carry the lad that's born to be King over the sea to Skye._

She'd continued as first mate until she could take it no longer. She'd rebelled, just as they'd been joined with three other pirate crews — including her youngest brother. She'd fallen in love with a demon, her best friend, and found that family wasn't just by blood.

She'd fought, she'd bled. She'd cried until she was hoarse, and she'd laughed until she cried.

_Give me again all that was then, give me the sun that shone. Give me the eyes, give me the soul, give me the lass that's gone._

_ Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep, ocean's a royal bed. Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep watch by your weary head._

She'd lost her Prussian captain and been thrust into the position by tragedy. She'd led them all, along with her brother and the other two captains, into battle against an entire nation, and watched as an entire continent rallied around them.

_Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say, could that lass be I? Merry of soul she sailed on a day over the sea to Skye._

_ Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, Onward! the sailors cry; Carry the lad that's born to be King over the sea to Skye._

_ Many's the lad fought on that day, well the Claymore could wield, when the night came, silently lay dead on Culloden's field._

_ Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say, could that lass be I? Merry of soul she sailed on a day over the sea to Skye._

She'd seen the love of her life killed, and had nearly broken every ancient law out of grief. She'd pulled herself together enough to go face down Death himself to bring her love back, and she'd left her twin brother behind.

_Burned are their homes, exile and death scatter the loyal men; Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath Charlie will come again._

She'd been offered the chance of a lifetime and had taken it to become the head of the entire European air force. She'd survived two years without her love and found him again. She'd screamed and cried and fought until she had no rage left to throw at him, and then she'd forgiven him, accepted him back into her life. She'd agreed to spend the rest of her life with him as they danced.

_Billow and breeze, islands and seas, mountains of rain and sun; All that was good, all that was fair, all that was me is gone._

They'd set sail together. Even when she threw spells and curses around the room and howled in rage and stress at the task of taking care of an entire continent, he'd stayed with her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her head as he hummed soft songs to soothe her.

_Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say, could that lass be I? Merry of soul she sailed on a day over the sea to Skye._

She stopped her dancing and closed her eyes, facing the great expanse of Loch Ness and breathing in the cool air. _Home._ This was home. After so many years of wandering and traveling, this was where she belonged.

Strong arms found their way around her waist, just as they always did through hell or high water. She could smell the mix of pine and spices on him, the scent so familiar it might as well have been her own. _Hers_. He was hers forevermore. They'd gone to the palace of Death and back together, had seen so much in the nine years they'd known each other.

Images flashed in her mind of a small girl with strawberry-blond hair and brilliant green eyes and thick eyebrows playing with a redheaded boy with brown eyes and a single fang poking out. She saw a luxurious apartment in Edinburgh full of life and family and mementos. She saw the ghost of her twin brother watching over them, smiling that soft smile of his.

Alasdair turned and looked at her.

"_En ma fin est mon commencement, Sister-Mine. In my end is my beginning._"

Truer words she had never heard.

* * *

**Well, y'all, this is it. Thus ends En Ma Fin (or at least the first draft of it). It's hard to believe that it's been two years (more than that, actually), and I'm not going to lie, this is somewhat emotional for me. This has been my baby, my masterpiece, and my nightmare, and I've loved every second of it. However, I'd be remiss if I didn't give credit where credit is due.**

**To my beta reader and friend, Tre Corde: thank you. Honestly, had it not been for you and those initial comments you made, I'm not entirely sure I would have continued past Chapter 3. Your edits constantly kept me on my toes and more than slightly amused. Bless you, Tre, for being amazing.**

**To WhatEverIEndUpCallingMyself: thank you for your support. Our conversations were enlightening and a joy to take part in. It's readers like you who made all of this worth it.**

**To Mary: Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but thank you so much. I'm not sure why I'm thanking you, but I am so heh.**

**To Karlene: See above. Y'all have just been really encouraging.**

**To Emily, Patrece, and Meagan: Y'all most likely will never see this, but thank you for being a supportive "family." I'm not sure what I would do without the encouragement from my "daughter" and "granddaughters." **

**And to you, dear reader, whomever you may be: To you, I give the greatest thanks. Whether this is your first time stumbling across my humble work, or you've been following since day one, thank you for joining me in this adventure. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.**

**~La Reine Écossaise**


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